The Red in the Sky Is Ours
by Limmet
Summary: Thundercracker is pleased to have been offered a spot in Megatron’s elite Seeker trine, but he soon finds out that there is always a price to pay. Story ties in with ”Captured” and ”Choies”, but can be read independently.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's notes: **__This is a companion fic to "Captured" and "Choices". It came about because I thought that there were concepts raised in "Choices" that deserved to be explored in a separate story. However, it's not necessary to have read the aforementioned fics to be able to follow the storyline in this one. _

_Although – as some readers might have noticed – the title for this fic has been borrowed from At the Gates' song/album with the same name, this is _not_ a song-fic and there is no other relation to the lyrics. Heh, I don't even like the band much. _

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

The officer led the way through meandering corridors while Thundercracker followed behind, lost in his own thoughts. He barely noticed when the other mech stopped in his tracks and so was mere inches from crashing into the bulky frame before coming to a halt.

Thundercracker looked up. They were standing in front of a door that, judging by its size and ornaments, obviously lead into a high-ranking officer's quarters. His companion, Steelfire, lifted a hand and rapped at the imposing structure three times in quick succession.

"Come in," a raspy voice replied.

Steelfire pushed the door open and entered gingerly, Thundercracker on his heels. The flier couldn't stop a twinge of nervousness from surging through his frame; being a new recruit, he wasn't used to being in the presence of officers of such rank. It made him feel uncomfortable, like he didn't know what to do with himself.

A mech was sitting at a desk in the far corner of the room, and he had, by the looks of it, been occupied with the data pad that was now lying on the surface of the massive piece of furniture. The blue glow from the pad gave the only half-lit room an eerie quality, enveloping the seated mech in an uncanny, glowering aura. It did not, however, illuminate his facial features enough to fully assure a beholder that he was a real mech of metal and circuits and not some sort of mythical apparition.

The figure slowly rose from his seat and approached the two visitors, making no obvious haste. Mechs of his rank were used to making their subordinates wait, and had come to expect that they would do so without protest.

"So, this is the new flier?" he unceremoniously asked Steelfire, but his optics were focused on Thundercracker as he spoke. The blue and white mech steeled himself as the scrutinizing gaze travelled over his frame as if it were looking for potential weaknesses, obvious or hidden. He kept his own gaze fixed at a point a hand's breadth to the right of the officer's head, not daring to lock optics with him.

"Yes, Lord Starscream." The officer came to full attention as he replied. No doubt, this mech commanded a lot of respect among his fellow Decepticons. "This is the recruit that Megatron has chosen to take Cloudstriker's place."

Cloudstriker. So that was the name of the Seeker that had been off-lined in battle, his untimely demise opening up a spot in Megatron's elite Seeker trine. Thundercracker had never heard the name before; he only knew that a member of the trine had been killed, and that he had been picked to fill the now vacant position.

Of course, it was a great honour. He had been reminded of that more times than he cared to think of, and he had lost count of how many mechs had slapped his shoulder, congratulated him, and offered him supportive words. Although, he wasn't slow-witted enough not to realize that all the good wishes were just a show. Few of the mechs had been able to hide the jealousy as they mouthed their congratulations, no doubt wishing that they had been chosen instead.

And he knew that many of his comrades were waiting for his failure, waiting for him to be demoted or killed so that they might be given the chance next. An opening like this didn't come around often, and many had been hoping. But instead, to their chagrin, a new, relatively untried recruit had been chosen instead.

Yes, Thundercracker knew that this was indeed an amazing stroke of good fortune. In the short time he had been with the Decepticon faction, he had proved himself enough so that no one less than Megatron himself had deemed fit to give him this opportunity. And Thundercracker was fully determined to live up to the high expectations that now rested on his shoulders.

"Very well then. You're excused; I'll take it from here." Starscream said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

The other officer saluted and turned sharply on his heel, as if he didn't want to stay a second longer than necessary. Thundercracker almost jumped when the door was closed behind him, leaving him alone with the imposing mech, who turned his full attention to the nervous flier.

"I've heard a lot about you," the Air Commander said, abruptly and to the point. "Apparently you've caught the eye of the right people around here with your flying skills. Even Megatron is impressed with you."

Thundercracker wasn't sure if he should acknowledge the praise or not. The way the words had been said made him doubt that they were meant as praise in the first place. Mockery was more like it.

"But that is of no concern to me. The only thing that matters is how well you will perform while a member of _my_ trine. Any achievements you've made so far are null and void; you're going to start from zero and prove yourself to _me_. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cloudstriker was a bit like you," the officer continued, as if he hadn't heard Thundercracker. "Inexperienced, but still managed to impress his officers enough to get the chance when another of my former wingmates was killed off. He didn't last very long though. His promotion went to his head and he got cocky, and an Autobot gunner blasted his very spark out." The words were covered in contempt. They were not spoken by someone who mourned the loss of a comrade, but someone who despised the obvious failure of a subordinate.

Red optics bore into Thundercracker, drilling holes into his frame. "I expect better than that from you; a _lot_ better. Or I will deal with you myself. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, sir," Thundercracker repeated, wondering if he was going to regret his quick promotion. Despite the brief time he had spent in the other's presence, he was already certain that he didn't like the Air Commander one bit.

"Good," Starscream acknowledged after giving the blue and white Seeker another scrutinizing stare. "Then there are other matters we need to attend to."

The Air Commander moved forward, stepping out of the shadows he had been standing in. Thundercracker was certain it had been a deliberate strategy that allowed him to undisturbed gather his first impression of the new recruit, while himself remaining half-hidden in the gloomy darkness.

As the distance between the two was closed, Thundercracker finally got a good look at the officer. Even though Starscream had the same generic Seeker frame like him, he still stood out like red in an ocean of green. His lips were curled in what seemed to be a perpetual snarl, and the look in his optics was disdainful, as if everything around him was unworthy of his presence. His entire demeanor gave the illusion that he was looking down on Thundercracker from above, and the other mech had to look twice before he was convinced that the two were really the same height.

The proud, defiant facial features told the same story as the words he had just spoken. The same story as the rumours and talks Thundercracker had overheard from the other Decepticons. Starscream was a vain and self-loving mech, no doubt about it. He carried himself in the same way someone fully convinced of his own superiority would, no failures or differing opinions capable of making him think differently.

The Seeker resisted the impulse to take a step back, the sudden closeness disturbing. But he didn't move, remaining on the spot as if he had been welded to the floor.

"I'm sure you've been informed about the purpose of your visit here? Other than getting acquainted with your new commanding officer?" Starscream drawled.

Indeed, Thundercracker had. He still remembered Steelfire's words as he explained the reasoning behind how things were done in the Decepticon army: _A trine will not function properly with three individual members; they have to be a team, an entity. And there is no better way to make sure of that than having a bond forged between the wingmates. _

"I have, sir."

Starscream smiled. It wasn't a smile that exuded happiness or friendliness; it was just an upward movement of the corner of his lips. "No need to call me 'sir', you're to become part of my trine now, so let's shed such unbecoming formalities," he offered curtly.

_Starscream's trine. _Of course, he was Air Commander, not to mention Second in Command, so referring to it as such was perhaps natural. Still, Thundercracker couldn't help but think that that was how Starscream would have thought of the team regardless of whether he had been its commander or not.

"As you wish," Thundercracker acknowledged. It was clear that the concession was only a formality and not meant to truly renounce any of the difference in rank between them. Starscream would remain as distant as ever, his trinemate far below him.

"Then let's get started." There was a hint of impatience in his voice, accentuated by the nonchalant shrug that followed, as if the awaiting procedure was nothing but an annoying waste of time that could have been spent on more productive things.

The Air Commander gestured at Thundercracker to follow as he walked up to an ornate cabinet that decorated the far wall. Like so many other things in the room, it was rather gaudy, bordering on what was appropriate furnishing in an officer's quarters. Starscream trailed a finger across one of the meandering lines of Cybertronian print that adorned it – it was too dark for Thundercracker to make out what it said – before he opened the cabinet door. A black hand reached into the darkness and emerged again holding a pair of cubes. One of them was unceremoniously handed over to Thundercracker, and he automatically accepted it before he had even registered what it was.

The hand reached back inside, and this time it came out grasping what looked like a container of high-grade energon. As Starscream removed the lid, Thundercracker could feel the reek from where he was standing; no doubt this was strong stuff.

"So, let's get ourselves comfortable," Starscream said as he nodded towards the berth next to the cabinet, the movement causing a small trail of high-grade to run over the canister ridge. Thundercracker obeyed, legs oddly heavy as he sat down where the other had indicated.

Starscream positioned himself on the berth beside the blue and white Seeker, letting out a contented sigh as he poured the almost-liquid into the awaiting cubes. "This is some good high-grade, you'll definitely like it," he said appreciatingly.

Thundercracker only watched the pinkish substance as it swirled around, glowing with an eerie fluorescent light. As the other mech continued to praise its qualities, Thundercracker wondered briefly if the almost ghost-like effect was caused by the high-grade itself or if energon always looked like this in poor illumination. He had never noticed it before.

The meandering movement of the liquid was mesmerizing, and he continued to stare at it. Round and round it went; little currents being caught up by larger ones, only to break up again and create new, rolling waves that got themselves swallowed up by the surrounding whirls. He fleetingly wondered what it would be like to be caught into a swirl like that, being carried around without any direction or power to stop himself from going wherever the currents were taking him.

The liquid was still swirling as if it had been a stormy ocean when Starscream put the canister back onto the table with a _clank_. It brought Thundercracker out of his reverie and he looked up.

The other mech was already holding one of the cubes in his hands. "Drink," he offered, although the words sounded more like an order than a friendly invitation.

Thundercracker lifted the other cube and gingerly brought it to his lips, taking a small, prudent sip. The exact strength of the high-grade was still unknown to him and he wanted to keep his wits with him tonight, even if Starscream himself didn't have any similar qualms.

As expected, it was strong, and he could feel the effect on his systems almost immediately. He wanted to put the cube back on the table, but caught the look in Starscream's optics and thought better of it.

He took another sip. And then several more.

When he finally dared to put the cube down it was half empty. Starscream, on the other hand, had almost finished his and leered at his subordinate.

"Not used to the stronger stuff, I take it?"

"I'm not much of a drinker, no," Thundercracker admitted, wondering if Starscream was about to take the opportunity to mock him for this.

"That's alright. Sometimes all you need is to build some tolerance." The words had a bit of a slur to them, as if they were sticking to the other mech's vocalizer, wanting to remain there.

Thundercracker didn't reply. He was feeling a bit dizzy and tried to get his optics to focus on something. There was some energon on the rim of his cube, and he directed his attention towards that shivering drop of liquid, as it seemed to hesitate whether it should remain where it was or continue downwards.

Without warning, a hand placed itself on Thundercracker's arm, squeezing it. The touch was neither ungentle nor soft, but like how one would grab hold of a piece of indelicate equipment one wished to pick up. The Seeker turned towards the touch and was surprised to see the other mech sitting right next to him, shoulders almost touching; somehow he had inched his way close without Thundercracker noticing.

As the energon-reeking breath reached his olfactory senses, he resisted the urge to turn away. He wouldn't have been able to regardless, seeing as how Starscream was now using his leverage to pull the blue and white mech even closer.

"To be honest, I've always found it interesting to bond with a Seeker," the Air Commander said, voice low and husky. If there had been any doubt in Thundercracker's mind that Starscream wasn't drunk, it was all gone when the words were accompanied by what could best be described as a distorted parody of a giggle. "We all look so alike that in a way it's almost like... bonding with yourself, you know?" he continued, and then cackled hysterically as if someone had just told him a hilarious joke.

The disturbing display made Thundercracker wonder how many times Starscream had been through this. Just how many times he had bonded with a new trinemate. The thought was unnerving. He knew that Starscream had been one of the first mechs to join Megatron, and had held the position of Air Commander for most of his service in the Decepticon faction. Surely during all that time there must have been several trinemates that had come and gone, only to be replaced by new ones. And Starscream had been bonded to all of those mechs.

No wonder that the Air Commander was often described in whispered voices as something of a loose cannon and the kind of mech that had more than a few circuits scrambled. Thundercracker could only imagine what it must be like to lose bondmate after bondmate like Starscream had. Even if he hadn't cared the slightest about any of them – and Thundercracker suspected that he hadn't, judging by the flippant way he had talked about Cloudstriker – a bond was still a bond, and having it terminated was bound to be a painful and traumatizing experience. He had heard of mechs that had died after their bondmates had been killed, and even someone like Starscream couldn't possibly remain unaffected.

He sat still as the white arm started to snake its way around his waist. He had already decided to let Starscream take the lead in this, which the officer probably wouldn't object to, if Thundercracker had judged him correctly. It didn't take long until fingers were prodding at the seams of his armour, trying to find their way inside. He off-lined his optics as new waves of high-grade-induced dizziness rolled over him, and allowed Starscream's ministrations to continue.

Suddenly they stopped, and Thundercracker looked up to see the sneering face of the Air Commander looming over him. "You don't seem very enthusiastic, Thundercracker. Aren't you honoured to get to bond with a Second in Command?" There was a vague hint of amusement in his voice.

The other Seeker was about to make excuses, to blame the high-grade that he had been drinking, but the proper words wouldn't come to him. Not to mention that Starscream didn't seem interested to hear any of his prevarications

"No matter, I can handle this myself. You can just lie there if you want," he said, half to himself, and then continued as if there had been no interruption.

Thundercracker tried to relax, but he was beginning to wonder if there hadn't been something else in that high-grade that Starscream had served him. Even if he rarely drank, he did have enough experience to know what an over-energized stupor felt like, and his current predicament somehow felt... different. Not necessarily unpleasant, but there was an underlying quality to it he had never felt before.

True, it could be that he had only tried the cheaper kind of high-grade until now, and Starscream's rank surely gave him access to finer, more expensive varieties that might have a somewhat different effect on the drinker. That had to be it. After all, it didn't make sense that Starscream would slip something into his drink to make him drowsy, as it would only serve to impede the bonding they were about to go through. Why Starscream would serve him high-grade in the first place could be explained as an attempt to make Thundercracker more relaxed and comfortable, but surely there would be no reason to put anything else in it that turned his systems this oddly unresponsive?

Perhaps he was thinking too much about things and should concentrate on the task at hand instead.

He lifted the arm that hung limp at his side and gingerly touched the red and white metal that was pressed to his, half expecting Starscream to swat the fingers away. The only reaction they met, however, was a sudden stiffness as if the Air Commander was surprised at the sudden touch, but it disappeared as soon as it had come.

Thundercracker traced his fingers across one of the armour seams, and then let two fingers slip inside. They found a bundle of wires and ran over its length, back and forth. Again, there was a minute tensioning in the Air Commander, but once more it quickly went away. Thundercracker's other hand found the edge of a wing and explored the white appendage with careful fingertips, rubbing across the metal plating in circles.

Starscream responded by digging deep into the other mech's chassis, invading every crevice with experienced fingers, teasing at the wires. Pressing into the other mech with his body as if he were trying to join them physically together.

And so the two continued. Fingers and hands caressing metal, wires, and armour plating. No words were exchanged between them, no groans or moans of pleasure voiced. Just the moving hands that did their best to tactically stimulate the other participant.

How long they had been going at it Thundercracker did not dare to guess, but he could feel the mechanical stimulation starting to have its intended effects. His spark was reacting within its case, reaching out as if it was trying to find something.

And he knew that that 'something' was another spark.

The feeling was frightening in all of its novelty. He had, of course, interfaced with other mechs before, but he had always overloaded before it went as far as to this. Bonding was a serious matter and becoming so inextricably intertwined with another mech was unthinkable. Unless, of course, you were in a Decepticon military team that required it.

Thundercracker shivered as he felt his spark chamber slowly open, revealing the delicate contents within; his very essence, his inner sanctuary bared to the mech above him. He had never felt so acutely vulnerable before, and only his well-developed self-restraint stopped him from giving in to the urge to cover the opening with his hands.

He fought a wave of rising panic as realization of what was about to take place hit him full on. How could he ever go through this with someone like _Starscream_? Letting their sparks join, linking himself to the arrogant, unpleasant mech that was now sprawled above him? _Oh Primus_...

But there was no way out now. It was far too late for him to back down.

He on-lined the optics that he hadn't even realized had off-lined, and the first thing they noticed was that the cover to Starscream's spark chamber had already retracted. The gaping opening seemed to widen as if it was about to swallow the other Seeker in one piece, mercilessly devouring his shivering form. But the bluish glow that emanated from within was strong and bright, pulsing with a vigour so strong that it gave the impression that the spark had a life of its own, independent of it owner. Like the swirling high-grade had mesmerized him before, so did the sight capture his optics, refusing to let go. Unable to tear his gaze away, Thundercracker stared at the glowing bulb as if it contained the answers to all the secrets of the universe.

"So then, looks like we're both ready," Starscream remarked dryly, and without any further ado leaned over the other mech. The words had an utter finality to them that made a chill pass through the other mech.

As Starscream brought his chassis down to meet that of his partner's, spark chamber to spark chamber, Thundercracker's entire frame started to shake. For the first time since he had entered the room, he was truly afraid. Not of Starscream or the possibility that the process might be painful, but of the inevitableness of what was going to happen.

No, there would be no return now.

Their sparks met.

Thundercracker cried out. There was no pain, but instead surprise and shock. It felt as if Starscream was suddenly inside of him, permeating his entire being. And the world whirled around him, twisting into ever-bifurcating currents that swept him along with them as if he had been nothing more than dust to the wind. Or an atom in a cube of swirling high-grade.

Starscream was everywhere. In his head, in his mind, in his spark. Thundercracker could no longer tell where his own essence began and finished, all of it now being tied to the other mech. His inner being was being ripped apart into fine strands that twisted around the other presence, and the resulting joint form was carried forth and juggled around in the maelstrom that now surged around them.

But in all the madness that surged in him and around him, there was something that stood out – a realization that all of this seemed to take place within himself. Not within Starscream, nor anywhere else. And while Starscream was now invading his partner's very spark, his own spark seemed oddly out of reach to Thundercracker. He had thought that he should be able to reach it and permeate it in the same way, but something was stopping him.

It wasn't supposed to be like that. The logic of this strange inner universe he was finding himself in told him that he should be able to gain access to that other spark. He didn't know why or how he knew this, he just did.

It was odd. So strangely odd.

He made another attempt to reach the glowing orb that flickered so temptingly in front of him, seemed to call out to him, but again he met an invisible wall as he tried to reach it. It was like clawing at a glass partition that allowed him to see everything clearly, and yet prevented him from getting any closer to his intended goal.

No, it shouldn't be like this. He just knew it. That spark should be his for the taking, just like his own spark was now being ravished by the other presence. And yet, he was so impotent, so unable to take what should be rightfully his.

Strange.

Suddenly, without warning, the other presence was brutally yanked away from him. The world swirled and spun again, pulling him away from this bizarre universe. He tried to hold onto to it, but his efforts were in vain. All he could do was let himself be carried by those currents wherever they chose to take him. Whatever fear he had felt at first was long gone and he surrendered willingly to the swirling madness as it dragged him along.

And then he was back. The first sight that greeted him was that of Starscream looking down at him from above, spark chamber just closing.

"You look tired, Thundercracker. Perhaps you should just go into recharge."

The words were tempting, so very tempting. He was utterly spent and whatever energon had been in his body when he came here now seemed to have been drained out of him. He parted his lips to say something, but his vocalizer refused to obey him. Perhaps that was just as well.

The image of Starscream with an unreadable expression on is face was the last thing he saw before he let exhaustion take over and carry him off into a dreamless recharge.

* * *

_**End note:**__ I'm currently looking for a beta reader for this story, so if you're at all interested, please drop me a note!  
_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

Thundercracker slowly came to after his long recharge. His internal chronometer told him that it was already well past the time any decent mech would get up, and he grimaced as he grudgingly sat up on the berth. Recollections of the previous night were slowly starting to return to his processor in bits and pieces, reluctantly arranging themselves into their right positions. One integral part was still absent though – the one that explained how he had ended up in his own berth after slipping into recharge in Starscream's quarters.

He remained sitting on the edge as he tried to collect himself. His systems were still slow and it would take a while until they had fully calibrated themselves. There was a mild headache pounding in his head as if he had repeatedly slammed it into something hard, and he rubbed his forehead in a vain attempt to get rid of the pain. It didn't help.

Other than the usual tell-tale signs of a night of over-energizing, there was definitely something else out of the ordinary. He couldn't put the feeling into words, but it was more than just a sensation; it was something almost physical, as if he had through some mysterious intervention grown a new limb during the night.

Of course, it didn't take him long, lingering hangover or not, to figure out what it was. It was the new bond that he had forged with Starscream. He fought down the panic that pummeled at the surface, insisting that he let it out to roam freely, and tried to let reason take over. There was no point in being anything less than rational about this.

Granted, he had never been bonded to anyone before, but like every unbonded mech he had entertained his own ideas of what it would be like. However, while his conceptions had been vague and unspecific, the bond itself was the very opposite of that. It was real, strong and imposing. Impossible to ignore.

And much as he hated to admit it, it scared him. It was as if there was now a new entity living inside of him, a greedy little parasite that was sitting somewhere in his frame, chewing at his cables with sharp teeth. And it wouldn't be happy until it had devoured all of him.

Part of him wanted to rip open his own chassis to tear at this parasitic being, to yank it out with his own hands, but the more logical part of him knew that such actions would only reward him with a trip to the medbay, the bond remaining as strong as ever before. His hands clutched at his chest as if the desperate touch would diminish the invasive feeling inside of him, but it was to no avail.

Yes, somehow he had expected differently. He had just assumed that the bond would be there without him really noticing it, like all his other senses and appendages and systems were just... there. But the bond now permeated his entire being, refusing to be ignored, like crackling static in a transmission.

His audio receptors registered a pained groan that he only vaguely recognized as his own. He barely managed to resist the impulse to crawl back onto the berth and huddle himself in the fetal position, feeling sorry for himself. How would he ever get used to this unnatural... _presence_ inside of his own body?

No, it wasn't just a mere presence. It was something much more than that. But he had a feeling he did not know the full extent of it yet, and those other peculiarities would probably not manifest themselves until he had started to interact with Starscream on a regular basis. _His bondmate._ The new epithet seemed out of place, even wrong, in its glaring obtrusiveness.

He tried to calm down. There was no use acting like a spoilt noblemech. After all, he had known – at least in theory – what he was getting himself into, and the returns were worth the sacrifice, right? After all, he could name at least ten other mechs who would happily give their right wings in exchange for a place in Starscream's trine.

And as the saying went, nothing could be gained without giving something up in the process. He sought comfort in those words, convincing himself that it was all worth it. He should be _grateful_ for this opportunity. Few mechs ever got the chance that he had gotten. Normally, new recruits had to work hard for eons before they made it this far.

All those words that his comrades had told him after his promotion had been made official, Thundercracker now let wash over himself. He reveled in them, gorged himself on them as if they were all he had, tried to coat himself in them. Tried to tell himself that there was no reason for him not to be happy.

_No_. Not even one.

He was interrupted by a knock on the door that made him jump. Quickly, he collected himself, hoping that none of his emotional distress would show.

"Come in."

The door opened, somewhat hesitatingly, as if the visitor was unsure of what sight would be greeting his optics. In the frame stood Steelfire, casting a quick glance at the mech that was still seated on the berth, before deciding that it was safe to enter.

"Good morning," Thundercracker offered, wincing slightly at the croakiness of his own voice. If the officer noticed, he didn't give any signs.

"Well, I would hardly call it morning anymore. I just wanted to check that everything is... alright with you," Steelfire said as he peered curiously at the other mech, as if he were searching for something that would tell him the specifics of what had transpired the other night.

"I'm fine. Just a bit hung over from yesterday." Thundercracker decided not to go any further than that, and he doubted that the officer would be asking him. It wasn't as if it was his business anyway.

"Good, good." The burly mech nodded, and then he fell silent for a few astroseconds, searching his processor for the appropriate words. "Since I thought you might be a bit... tired from yesterday, I figured that I should remind you that you have an... ah, appointment with Skywarp tonight," he continued pointedly, not meeting Thundercracker's optics.

_Oh slag._ He had totally forgotten about that. A new wave of panic hit against the gates of his sanity, almost breaking through the barrier. As if one bond wasn't bad enough, now he was expected to subject himself to the same thing all over again. The actual interfacing as such he could deal with, but having another one of these _entities_ crawling and twisting inside of him made him want to squirm. Or punch something.

Outwardly, he remained as calm as ever; the only outward sign of his inner turmoil a clenching of his fists.

"Thanks for reminding me, Steelfire. I'll make sure to be there."

* * *

Thundercracker found himself staring at Steelfire's back again as he trailed after him through the corridors, as the officer showed him the way to Skywarp's quarters. His processor was screaming at him to make a run for it, to tell Steelfire that he didn't care about the position in the trine, to do whatever necessary to stop the inevitable.

Of course, he didn't carry out any of the ridiculous ideas spawned by his own desperation, and before he knew it, he found himself standing inside of Skywarp's quarters. Steelfire hurriedly excused himself and closed the door, leaving Thundercracker alone with his second trinemate.

"I'm Skywarp. But you probably knew that already," the black and purple Seeker greeted him. "So you're Thundercracker, that new recruit. I've heard a lot about you; apparently you're quite the flier. Of course, if you weren't, they would never have offered you this position, would they? Unless you've got some sort of special ability that would be useful, that is. Sort of like me; I actually got picked for this trine because of my teleportation abilities. Anyway, I'm sure you've already met Starscream, our trine leader and..."

The barrage of words took Thundercracker quite unprepared. Did the other mech always babble like this? Or was he just being nervous? He tried to remember what he had heard his comrades say about this Seeker, but didn't come up with all that much. And at any rate, he had noticed that most of what was said behind other mechs' backs tended to be, if not outright lies or distortions, then at least gross exaggerations. But a few specifics had been repeated quite frequently and might therefore be more than just the products of malicious, jealous tongues.

_'Skywarp is a klutz'. 'Skywarp's processor is slower than a ground-hugger without legs'. 'Skywarp's teleportation ability is wasted on a mech like him'._

How much truth there was to those sentiments, Thundercracker was certain he would soon find out regardless. He couldn't help but to fleetingly wonder what rumours travelled around about himself; he wasn't naïve enough to think that he was in any way exempt from them.

Skywarp's prattling had finally stopped, and the two now stood staring at each other in an awkward silence. Thundercracker knew he should probably say something, but no words would come to him. He made an inward grimace; as unpleasant as Starscream had been, at least he had known how to take command of the situation.

"Well, this is kinda new to me too," Skywarp admitted, breaking the silence. "Actually, the only mech I've bonded to before, apart from Starscream, is Cloudstriker. You know, the Seeker you're replacing..." He fell silent again, chewing on his lip as if he had said something inappropriate.

The reaction made Thundercracker wonder how hard the recent loss had hit the black and purple Seeker. While Starscream seemed to have found a way to deal with the many bonds and prevent their terminations from taking their rightful toll on him, Thundercracker doubted that Skywarp possessed the same capabilities. And even if the thing that now nestled inside of him was undesirable, he could imagine how cutting it off would feel, even if the mech that the bond was shared with meant nothing to him.

He shuddered, not only from the thought itself, but also from the realization that the bond had already become such an integrated part of him that it allowed him to realistically picture such scenarios.

Skywarp spoke again, perhaps realizing that Thundercracker wasn't about to take charge. "Umm... there's a berth over there." He gestured vaguely towards something at his left side. "It's not the most comfortable one around and it's kinda small, but..."

"It will be fine," Thundercracker interrupted gruffly. He just wanted to get this over with so he could leave and delve into his own misery in the privacy of his quarters, instead of being subjected to the inane blabbering of his new trinemate. Heeding the invitation, he walked over and sat down on the flat structure, wordlessly waiting for the other mech to join him.

"Okay then..." Skywarp said, looking hesitant. "I guess we can get started then."

He sat down next to Thundercracker, half-turned towards the other mech. For a long moment, neither made a move. After several kliks had ticked by, Thundercracker decided he might as well take command and leaned over towards Skywarp in an attempt to drag him closer.

Unfortunately, the same idea seemed to have hit the other mech at the exact same moment, since the black and purple Seeker only an astrosecond later also leaned over. Their two heads met with a resounding _clang_, causing Skywarp to jump back with a yelp, clutching his helmet.

"Ouch!"

Thundercracker recoiled as well and rubbed at his head, although it was more out of annoyance and exasperation than any real pain. Skywarp had taken the brunt of the collision anyway, as the ridge of Thundercracker's helmet had slammed into the other mech's forehead.

No doubt about it, Skywarp really _was_ a klutz.

Several more moments ticked on in silence. Then:

"Wow, this is kinda awkward, isn't it?" Skywarp made another attempt to lighten the atmosphere with out-of-place words, again failing miserably.

A part of Thundercracker wanted to laugh at the pathetic situation, but this was neither the time nor place.

No, he should just get this over with.

He brusquely leaned in over Skywarp once more, mimicking Starscream's actions yesterday as he grabbed hold of an arm and pulled the other mech close to him.

"Oh," the black and purple mech commented in surprise, as if he hadn't expected that from Thundercracker. He didn't protest though, and allowed himself to be dragged along.

"Hehe, you know, when I first got bonded to Starscream, he told me that bonding with another Seeker was like bonding with yourself because we all look more or less the same. Always though that was kinda funny," came the next pointless string of words from Skywarp.

_Oh Primus._

"Yes, he told me the same thing," Thundercracker replied, annoyed. Did this mech ever shut up?

"Hah, did he now?" Skywarp snickered, finding great amusement in that little tidbit of information. "Well, I guess he is kinda predictable after all."

Thundercracker's only reply was to reach for one of the other Seeker's wings and stroke the black metal, hoping it would put a halt to the endless comments.

"Mmm. That actually _is _pretty nice, you know. I guess that's one of the benefits of being a Seeker, having these sensitive wings and all. Of course, it's not nearly as fun when you get them injured or shot at in battle though." He grimaced, probably from the recollection of a particularly nasty wound he had sustained.

The comment took Thundercracker by surprise. They weren't supposed to actually be _enjoying_ this. No, the only purpose of their current activities was to provide the tactical stimulation necessary for their sparks to respond accordingly and get ready for a bonding, and their spark cases to open – nothing else. Creating a bond between the members of a tight-knit military team would assure that it functioned optimally; it was not done for personal pleasure. In fact, it was the only instance in which a bonding was accepted in the Decepticon faction. True that some enjoyment and even an overload could be had in the process, but no one was supposed to acknowledge it or admit to it. That was, if not taboo, then at least inappropriate.

Skywarp didn't let this bother him in the slightest. "So how do you like _this _then?" He let a hand slip under the plating at Thundercracker's side. Whatever the fingers did to the cables underneath was obscured from view, but it made the blue and white Seeker involuntarily twitch and groan at the intense pleasure that shot through his circuits before he found himself staring into the grinning face of his trinemate.

Really, the audacity of this mech! Acting as if it was just a regular, simple interfacing session. He had never expected a member of the most elite Seeker trine to behave like this.

Or was this just a sophisticated way to mock him? To put him in his place and make him remember that he was still a new recruit, trine member or not?

Thundercracker didn't have an answer to those questions. And to be honest, he didn't quite know what to make of the other mech. At least Starscream had acted rationally and self-servingly, as was to be expected from a Decepticon.

Well, he would figure Skywarp out later. All he wanted right now was for this bonding session to be over and done with. Reaching out blindly, his fingers found a joint that they began to trace circles around, and then a thumb took to rubbing against the ridge of the protective armour plate partly covering it.

A muffled moan greeted his efforts, and two black hands started to help themselves to his chassis. Thundercracker off-lined his optics and did his best to relax as the other body pressed into his.

This time, it went quicker. The touches that were bestowed on him were having their intended effect, and he even got dangerously close to overloading several times, but he managed to fight it off. It wouldn't be appropriate, at least not this first time. Maybe he would allow himself an overload during a future session when he and Skywarp would be strengthening the bond between them.

Thundercracker's spark chamber was now fully open, as was Skywarp's. Not wasting any time, the blue and white mech pressed his chassis against the other's, feeling it important that he was allowed to initiate this, unlike during his previous bonding. If he was going to have another one of those parasitic entities inside of him, at least he wanted this small, insignificant illusion of control. Not that it mattered in the end, but for now it was all he could cling to.

He steeled himself as the two sparks were brought together, the feeling of inevitability heavy on his mind.

A sharp jolt, and his mind was yet again caught up in that swirling maelstrom of nothingness. Wild currents were flowing all around him – through him – until he was no longer able to separate them from his own self. Time and place no longer had any meaning as he was carried forward, riding on the waves, becoming one with them.

And then there was another presence somewhere around him. The currents swept him closer, and he passively allowed them to, knowing the futility of trying to stop them. Even though he felt as if his inner self had already been dissolved into the nothingness that raged around him, contrary to all logic and reason he was now being shred into thin pieces. And it didn't take long until all that was left of him were long strands of consciousness that drifted aimlessly, until they encountered the essence that was Skywarp.

He had expected the same to happen as last time, with Starscream. But it didn't. No, instead of the strands curling themselves around the other intact presence and clinging to it, they now intertwined with the separated strands of the other being. Each piece of consciousness wrapping itself around those other ones in the most intricate shapes possible until they were joined together as a single form.

He took note of another difference. While he had been fleetingly aware that the last bonding had on some level taken place within him, this time he was somewhere else. Not within his own self, and not within Skywarp. Just somewhere else. It was odd that there should be a difference, but the thought was gone as quickly as it had come, dissolved into the gaping void around him.

And then he became aware of another spark right next to his being. No, _his and Skywarp's _being; there were no longer two separate entities to speak of. He reached for the spark, lunged for it, desperate to be let in. Remembering last time, he expected to be denied access, expected to be shut out from the warm glow in front of him, but he still had to try.

To his surprise, the invisible wall that he had thought awaited him wasn't there, and the realization was the most marvelous concept he could ever imagine – he wasn't about to be stopped this time.

And before he knew it, he had been sucked in. Enveloping him in a bright, warm hue, the spark now permeated his very being just as he permeated it in turn. The idea that he could be inside of something that was at the same time inside of him didn't strike him as bizarre; it all seemed as natural and self-evident as a twisted dream would to a mech deep into recharge.

He basked in the light around him, wishing he could wrap himself in it. He had no desire to leave this place, and the vague recollection of his initial reluctance seemed illogical. Perhaps his memory was failing him. After all, what reason could there ever have been not to want this?

He felt a tug from a far distance. Annoyed, he tried to ignore it, but it only responded by pulling harder. It confused him. Why was that? Why would anything want to drag him away from here? It didn't make any sense, and he made another effort to fight it.

But the tug was too powerful for him, and he was pulled away from his comfortable hiding place, yet again being shred into tiny pieces that dissolved into nothingness. Soon, he was carried forward by those strange currents once more, the universe spinning around him with an ever-increasing speed until he thought it was going to explode.

And then he was back in Skywarp's quarters, sprawled on the berth, the other mech lying at his side. For several moments, he didn't move. He wasn't even sure he would have been able to.

Slowly, his systems started to get back online, and he off-lined his optics as he waited for his functions to be fully restored. Compared to the blur of wherever he had been a moment ago, the sharp lines and contrasts in the room jabbed at his optics.

And as he lay there, trying to get used to the new bond that was now a part of him as surely as his arms or wings, the recent experience automatically started to replay itself in his processor. It was odd that it had been so different from his bonding with Starscream. He had expected bondings to always be more or less the same, regardless of who one's partner was. But Skywarp had been so much more... accessible. Thundercracker had actually entered the black and purple mech's spark, his inner essence, something that he had been unable to with the Air Commander.

As he compared the two sessions, a sudden insight hit him like lightning – Starscream, unlike Skywarp, had never formed a full bond with him. While Thundercracker's own bond with the Air Commander was a normal one, Starscream had found a way to disrupt the process on his side and instead create... well, whatever it was. A semi-bond? A half-bond?

And perhaps, that was what had let the Seeker keep his sanity. Whereas a normal mech would have broken down after losing so many bondmates, Starscream could cope because he didn't allow a proper bond to form. During their bonding, he had somehow managed to keep Thundercracker out of his spark and deny him access, thereby preventing a real connection from taking shape.

He had never heard of anything of the sort before. Could it be that this was a discovery Starscream had made on his own? He knew that the Air Commander had been a scientist before the war, so maybe the inquisitive, logical mindset that came with such an occupation had helped him work out this solution? Or perhaps it was simply his extraordinary insights into a bond's nature, brought by the large numbers of bondmates that had come and gone during the years, that allowed him such a feat?

Thundercracker didn't know, and could only speculate. But he had the feeling that the high-grade Starscream had served him had been involved, one way or the other. Well, perhaps not the high-grade itself, but what might have been slipped into it. And whatever that something was, it seemed like it had prevented Thundercracker from completing Starscream's part of the bond, allowing the Air Commander to remain relatively unaffected.

Had Skywarp come to the same conclusion as him? Surely he must have noticed the difference between his bondings with the Air Commander and their late wingmate, Cloudstriker? He was curious to ask, but knew that giving voice to such concerns was highly unwise, to put it mildly. Calling a superior officer's actions into doubt was usually not a good idea.

He was interrupted in his thoughts by a movement on his right side. Skywarp was slowly coming to, moaning a bit as he did so.

Great. Thundercracker had been entertaining the thought of slipping out of the room before the other mech got his wits back, before he was subjected to anymore inane prattling. Guess it couldn't be helped now, though. Seeing as how they were part of the same trine and bondmates to boot, he might as well start getting used to it.

This time, though, Skywarp didn't say anything. He just gave the other Seeker a grin and then rolled over to his side, going into recharge.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's notes: **__Thanks to everyone who's been reading/reviewing so far! Much appreciated! _

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

Days passed. Eons passed. Orns turned into stellar cycles. And in the time that went by, Thundercracker found his place in the Decepticon army and the trine rather seamlessly. Like all new recruits, he carved out his own spot among his comrades, settling in without any significant mishaps on the way.

"Execute evasive maneuver." Starscream's order cut through the noise of roaring jet engines, demanding immediate attention and obedience.

Thundercracker made a dive for it, breaking the perfect formation. The smell of fuel and energon as he fell through the air was strong, almost pungent, but he paid it no heed. Starscream wasn't accepting any half-afted efforts. He expected the best from his wingmates; nothing less would be tolerated.

He had to admit, though, that despite the Air Commander's despotic training tactics, he enjoyed these sessions. Flying had always been his strongest passion; the one talent he prided himself on more than anything else. It defined who he was. It set him apart from those pathetic Autobots, most of whom had to rely on technical assistance to even get themselves off the ground.

He made a couple of rolls, elegantly evading his two trinemates, and then lunged for an imagined enemy on the ground. The rush of air around him as he sped downwards was exhilarating. It made him feel truly _alive_. He reveled in the feeling of whirling currents against his sensors as he broke the tranquility, before abruptly stopping his descent, once again pointing his nosecone towards the sky above.

Pride and joy swelled within him as he continued his aerial acrobatics. If this wasn't the epitome of existence, nothing was. He felt as not only a master of the sky, but as its owner, the blue nothingness above him his rightful inheritance. And only the Decepticon cause could have helped him claim it like this. Nothing else could have offered him the chance to fully utilize his abilities, and stretch them beyond his wildest imagination.

He passed under his two wingmates, so close that only a small miscalculation of their relative positions would have caused them to crash into each other, and marvelled at the beauty of it all. The three of them joined in perfect synchronicity, each so closely attenuated to his wingmates that to a beholder, they might as well have appeared as a single entity.

The ground below and all that belonged on it had ceased to exist to Thundercracker, like it had been whisked away to another dimension, not leaving a single trace in its wake. Only the sky and his wingmates were real, as they weightlessly seared through the sky.

He increased his speed to catch up with the other two Seekers, eager to reclaim his place in the formation.

Yes, flying was his passion. His _life_. Any existence lacking that ingredient would be meaningless, and devoid of purpose.

An overwhelming sense of superiority flooded his circuits, spreading to every inch of his being, pulsating like it was alive. Joining the Decepticon faction had given him an opportunity of aerial mastery, and what could possibly be more grand than an elite Seeker trine sweeping across the sky, their jet forms the embodiment of true greatness?

Indeed, it was utter perfection, painted on a canvas with the brightest, most splendid of colours. Nothing could compare, nothing would ever...

Then, suddenly, Skywarp wasn't where he was supposed to be. Thundercracker swerved sharply at the sight of the black and purple mech who had materialized right in front of him, only narrowly missing crashing into him. He was close enough to feel the heat of Skywarp's afterburners sting his outer armour as he passed by, way too close for comfort.

Starscream, however, wasn't so lucky. A loud crash, followed by a pained grunt and a wordless shriek informed Thundercracker that his trinemates had collided midair. There was a twinge of apprehension in his spark at the sound – this would hardly be pretty. Although, it wasn't unexpected, considering Skywarp's usual incompetence.

A couple of loud thuds, one after the other, followed as two Seeker bodies made contact with the ground beneath.

Thundercracker circled a round over the jets where they lay fallen, and then landed a short distance away. Fortunately, neither of them seemed to be too fragged up, more shocked and surprised than actually damaged. Their alt-forms were built to be sturdy, after all.

Slowly, painfully, the two downed jets started to transform. Thundercracker wondered, as he saw Skywarp's buckled side and heard his transformation cogs whine pitifully, if his wingmate had been too damaged to revert to his robot-mode and he should go get Hook. A few moments later, though, the stubborn metal plates jerkingly started to fold back into place, accompanied by a pained groan.

Starscream was suffering from similar problems. Some of his plates twitched, obviously stuck, and it took considerable effort before they could be torn free from the adjacent armour plates.

Thundercracker only watched the pathetic, undignified display as engines sputtered, metal grinded and cables tweaked, until slowly, grudgingly, there were again two robotic forms present, albeit somewhat dented. Skywarp had just managed to get up on unsteady legs, wobbling a little where he stood, when Starscream marched over to him, anger etched into every line of his faceplates.

"_Skywarp!_"

Before the Seeker in question had any chance to react or defend himself, a black fist had landed squarely in his face, making him sprawl on the hard ground below.

"Idiot! Incompetent! _Moron!_ Just what the slag do you think you're doing?" Starscream raged in high-pitched shrieks as he towered over his fallen comrade.

Skywarp offered what could best be described as an apologetic grimace, but made no further attempts to defend himself. It wasn't as if Starscream would have been listening anyway.

"How many times have I told you to get your teleportation ability under control? And still, you manage to mess up!" the red and white Seeker continued his berating. "The Autobots would laugh themselves to _death_ if they saw you!"

Thundercracker couldn't help but concede that Starscream did have a point in that observation, but decided it was more prudent to keep his opinion to himself.

"If you continue like this, all the Autobots will have to do to win the war is sit back and watch as you take us all out one by one with your incompetence!" Starscream sounded like he was on the verge of blowing a casket, displeasure and contempt radiating from him in waves.

The scolding degenerated further into shrieked insults and expletives until Skywarp had finally had enough of being screamed at.

"Okay, so maybe I messed up. But _you_ should have been able to avoid crashing into me if you had been paying more attention." The Seeker, still sitting on the ground, scowled, and then hesitated slightly before speaking again. "You know, we _do_, after all, share a bond between us, and that alone should make you attenuated enough to my physical position as to..."

"Silence!" Starscream interrupted him, anger flaring up yet again, marring his symmetric, angular face. "I don't want to hear another word of your worthless excuses."

Slowly, laboriously, Skywarp got to his feet. There was an unreadable expression in his narrowed optics, but his voice was surprisingly calm as he spoke. "Not to mention, you were out of position yourself a couple of times, and yet you didn't see me or TC crashing into _your_ chassis, did you?"

This time, it was Starscream's turn to scowl as he threateningly shook a clenched fist in his wingmate's general direction. "Don't you dare trying to shift the blame here; everyone knows you're the biggest klutz to ever set foot in our base!" he growled derisively, an almost solid aura of superiority enshrouding him.

Thundercracker, on his hand, only followed the exchange in silence, feeling the previous flood of pride and exhilaration slowly dwindle into a trickle and then evaporate into nothingness. His beautiful flying experience wasn't supposed to have degenerated into... _this_.

Skywarp opened his mouth to say something in response, but was again cut short by his commanding officer.

"Next time you better perform at a level more fitting of a member of my trine. Or I'll have you dismantled for spare parts!" With that, he stomped off. Probably to medbay, judging by the sad droop of his right wing and the clank of several not fully attached metal parts slamming against each other as he moved.

The blue and white Seeker grimaced, an odd feeling of discomfort in his processor. This had been a rather... _unworthy_ scene, to say the least.

"Testy, isn't he?"

Thundercracker looked up, half taken aback by the question. Somehow his disappointment had made him almost forget about the other Seeker's presence.

He made a non-committal kind of grunt. Better not to take any sides in this.

Skywarp seemed to interpret the guttural sound as agreement. "Yeah, I know. But that's Starscream for ya, alright," he said, hinting that this wasn't the first time there had been a similar clash of wills.

Then his optics slid downwards in disgust, and there was a twitch in his faceplates. "Seems like the hydraulics in my leg have taken a bit of damage. Mind giving me a hand to medbay?" he asked, an embarrassed, lopsided grin on his face.

Not saying a word, Thundercracker let Skywarp's arm slide over his shoulders as the two of them headed back to base.

* * *

Thundercracker had retreated into his quarters and was now sprawled on his berth, contemplating whether he should just go into an early recharge for the night or not. He was tired after another grueling day of flying exercise, not to mention having to listen to Starscream's complaints about his trinemates' lackluster performance.

Granted, the harsh words had been directed more towards Skywarp than him, seeing as how he put a lot more effort into it than the black and purple Seeker ever did. So much that he knew that several of his comrades were making snide comments behind his back – and sometimes to his face – about it.

Thundercracker – always training, always flying, always practicing.

The others didn't like it much. Thought he was a show-off that made his comrades look bad, even lazy. But Thundercracker was determined to show himself worthy of his position as a member of the trine, so he kept it up. Even if the main reason for his diligence was something else.

It kept his mind occupied.

Being a solitary, not very social mech, the presence of the bonds was disturbing him still. They were like groping tentacles that reached for him, trying to sneak around him and immobilize him in their grip. Or like spying optics intruding on his privacy, even if he knew there was no way either of his bondmates could read his thoughts or find out what he was doing through the bond.

But the connection unsettled him, and he hated how it tied him to the other two. Not to mention how too long a separation from his wingmates made him unfocused and, to his dismay, had him yearn for another bonding session with them. Like he was no longer in control of himself, bond dictating how he felt.

He had to admit, though, that it was useful during training and in battle since it made him more aware and attenuated to his wingmates. Seen from that perspective, it was perfectly logical why Decepticon protocol demanded this of military teams like gestalts and Seeker trines. He just wished that the effects of the bond would be limited to when they were actually helpful, instead of making themselves reminded when he was alone in his private quarters.

He got enough of his two trinemates as it were without having the bond serve as a constant reminder of them. It was annoying. Slag it, _Skywarp_ was annoying.

He usually tried as best as he could to avoid the black and purple Seeker – luckily, Starscream never deigned it fit to socialize with his wingmates – and yet the mech would often try to attach himself to Thundercracker, clinging like sticky oil.

Constantly prattling about everything, anything and nothing. Making inane comments about whatever struck his fancy. Frequently messing up during training. In short, Skywarp was getting on his nerves.

Not to mention the ridiculous nickname he had recently come up with for his wingmate. 'Thundercracker' was a perfectly fine designation, and Skywarp's silly 'TC' did nothing but grate on his audio receptors. He briefly considered whether he should tell his trinemate to shut it next time he uttered those two syllables, but he suspected an expressed dislike would only serve to encourage the other flyer.

Thundercracker rolled over on his side, letting his wing hang over the edge of the berth as to not crush it under his own weight. He might as well get some rest. Tomorrow, so Starscream had declared, would be dedicated to the trine practicing joint attack maneuvers.

Not to mention, he had found out this morning that the task of being the mentor of a new transfer that was to arrive within the next few days had fallen upon him.

He had wanted to protest at first – he had no desire to hold the hand of some new mech, but the assignment officer had explained that it was a task normally given to those who were relatively new themselves. Newcomers tended to remember better what it was like to be a fresh arrival, after all. And all he really had to do was to show this new mech around the base and explain to him the way things worked here.

Thundercracker heaved a sigh as he off-lined his optics. At least the mech in question was a transfer and not a new recruit, and hence he ought to be able to settle in quickly. Primus willing, the assignment would soon be over and done with.

* * *

"And then," Skywarp explained to the two Triplechangers that were nonchalantly leaning against one of the walls of their headquarters, neither appearing to be overly interested in the Seeker's little exposé, "I told Starscream that he could go frag a..."

"Heh, sure you did," Blitzwing said in a mocking voice, not bothering to hide his snort at the unlikely tale that the Seeker had presented. "Not even you would be stupid enough to talk to Starscream like that – unless you'd like to be blasted into eternity with those null ray cannons, that is."

Skywarp merely shrugged the comment off. It wasn't as if _Blitzwing_ never elaborated a little when telling a story. "Eh. I'd teleport my aft out of there before he could even lift his arms," he said cockily, refusing to let the Triplechanger's barb get to him.

There was a bellow of laughter at this from Astrotrain. "Well, with the excellent control you have of your teleportation abilities, I'd say you're more likely to teleport yourself right into the line of fire than anywhere else. Starscream probably wouldn't even have to aim to hit you!" He slapped his drawn-up knee in amusement.

"Shut up, that's not..." the Seeker started, but was interrupted by Blitzwing.

"Oh, and speaking of teleporting, I heard that you recently managed to land yourself in medbay after teleporting right into the most solid object within a two miles' radius!" he said smugly, and then joined Astrotrain in the laughter.

Skywarp shot the purple mechs what he hoped was a malicious Look of Death. How they had found out about that little embarrassing incident he had no idea, but those two always did have a special knack for finding out things that others wanted to remain hidden.

He was about to counter with a rather malicious rumour of his own about Astrotrain that he had heard going around the base, but then a movement caught his optic, and he temporarily forgot about their banter.

"Hey, who's that?" He indicated the black and white mech who was making his way across the yard, a couple of fairly high-ranking officers flanking him.

His comrades looked to where Skywarp was pointing, and the three of them stood watching as the little procession strode towards the entrance of the base. They were talking amongst themselves, but the distance was too great for any of the words to carry over to where the ogling mechs were standing.

"It's some new transfer or the other. Think his name is 'Razz' or something like that," Blitzwing finally said, not seeming to care much one way or the other. "He's a spy and a saboteur, from what I've heard. I guess Megatron has use for someone like him, or he wouldn't be here."

Skywarp watched the unfamiliar mech for another few astroseconds. He seemed to have a strangely... bouncy kind of step for a spy.

Oh well.

There was a self-satisfied grin on Skywarp's face as he turned back to his two comrades, who had already lost interest in the newcomer.

"So, Astrotrain, I hear you like to overload yourself by hooking up your interface port to the..."

* * *

_**End note:**__ Not quite sure if the Seekers' Cybertronian alt-forms are really "jets" as such, but I don't know any better way to refer to them. Somehow, "flying pyramids" just doesn't seem to cut it. _


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's notes: **__Ah yes, 'tetrajets' does indeed sound familiar. Will stick to simply referring to them as 'jets', though. _

_I will also take the opportunity to prevent some possible confusion by pointing out to those readers who have not read "Captured" or "Choices" that this story is set in an AU where Jazz joined up with the Decepticons instead of the Autobots. But other than that, it's G1 as we all know it. _

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

"So, this is the mess hall," Thundercracker quite superfluously informed his charge with a wave of his hand.

The large room was teeming with mechs sitting or slouching at the long parallel tables that filled the area, energon cubes cluttering the surfaces of the drab furniture. As usual, the place was noisy, and from the moment the two stepped inside, pieces of broken sentences stemming from loud conversations, bragging and friendly bantering competed for the attention of their audio receptors.

"... I swear, the energon they serve over there is worth one of your wings and both of..."

"... is such a fragging pain in the aft, I couldn't care less if..."

"... what I've always said! But did anyone actually listen? No, they just pretended like..."

Thundercracker raised his voice a few notches to make sure that it wouldn't drown in the rather vicious barrage of words that surrounded them. "Technically, you can sit wherever you want, but there are some mechs that aren't very, shall we say, 'welcoming' towards those who don't belong to their particular group. But you'll find out about the finer points of that eventually."

"I can imagine," Jazz said with a shrug, studying the mechs around him with keen interest, as if he were already trying to judge their characters by sight alone. And considering that he made a living out of infiltrating the enemy and deceiving others, the automatic evaluation was probably second nature to him.

The saboteur brought his chin up to indicate a collection of burly mechs occupying a single table by themselves, the still available seats being conspicuously avoided by other mechs looking for a place to sit. "I'd say that little bunch over there would probably rip my tailpipes off if I even so much as looked at any of those empty seats," he sniggered.

Thundercracker listened with only one audio receptor, as his main focus had quickly shifted to avoiding bumping into a particular blue mech with impressive shoulder cannons, who had seemingly materialized out of nowhere.

"Hey watch it, Wheelbreaker!"

"Don't stand around dawdling in the passageway if you don't want to end up flat on the floor, flyboy," Wheelbreaker shot back with a good-natured grin as he pushed past the Seeker, three energon cubes balancing precariously in one of his hands.

Thundercracker ignored the jibe and turned back to his black and white companion. "Well, as you can see, most mechs here are total slag piles. A few of them can be fairly tolerable, though," he said light-heartedly. "Anyway, everyone gets their own allotted energon rations, and you register the withdrawals you make over there" – he pointed towards the energon dispenser at the far end of the room – "but if you perform well and manage to impress your officers, you might get more than the standard allocation for a mech of your size."

He was about to say something else, but then suddenly spotted Skywarp advancing towards him from across the room.

"Okay, let's move on and I'll show you the training area." He hurriedly turned around to leave, but it was already too late, as Skywarp had managed to push past the throng of mechs and catch up to his trinemate. An arm grabbed Thundercracker by the wing, halting him in his tracks.

"Aren't you gonna refuel? We have a table over there, so why don't you join us?" The black and purple Seeker jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

"I'm busy, Skywarp. I'll refuel later," Thundercracker said in a dismissive tone.

"Oh for slag's sake, TC; don't tell me you're going for some flying practice again?" the other whined, clearly not satisfied with Thundercracker's reply. "Can't you just _relax_ and do something else for once?"

"I will when I have time for it." With that, Thundercracker shrugged his wingmate off, and nodded to Jazz to follow him as he made his way towards the exit.

Jazz cast the black and purple Seeker a curios glance as they walked out. "Who was that? A buddy of yours?"

The other cringed slightly. 'Buddy' wasn't a word he'd use to describe Skywarp. 'Annoying pest' was more like it. "He's my wingmate. Not the brightest tool in the box, if you ask me. And unless you have a specific liking for useless blathering, I'd suggest you keep your distance from him."

Jazz raised an optic ridge. "Don't like him much, huh? I thought you Seeker trines were supposed to be all nice and tight?"

Well, in a way, Jazz had a point in that assertion. The bonds in a trine did tie the members close together, whether they wanted to or not. And it was precisely those monstrosities that Thundercracker still found himself struggling against in vain, as he fruitlessly tried to thwart the effects they were having on him. While a more rational part of him had come to accept the control the bonds exerted, another part still refused to submit, refused to let himself be so strongly affected by a foreign entity.

But Jazz wasn't bonded to anyone, so he wouldn't understand. And, of course, neither had Thundercracker, not before joining the trine.

It wasn't really a direction he felt comfortable having the conversation taking. It was too private and dug too deeply into emotions and feelings he didn't want to share, even if it had been considered appropriate to do so. In either case, speaking negatively about a bond and what it did to a mech wasn't advisable, just like it was unwise to express dissatisfaction with anything that was an important part of Decepticon protocol.

A neutral, general answer would have to do.

"We are. But sometimes such mechs are also the ones that get on your nerves the most."

He could feel the optics of the other mech burning into him as the saboteur contemplated the answer, as if he suspected there was something more behind it than what Thundercracker had given the impression of. In the short time they had spent together, Jazz had already come off to the Seeker as a rather perceptive mech – a necessary prerequisite in his role, of course – so he might draw his own inferences from the reply.

"Hmm, yeah, I guess I understand what you mean." Jazz finally said before making a pause, as if trying to decide whether he should continue on the current course, or take the conversation elsewhere. "So who's your other trinemate, then?"

"Starscream."

Jazz made a kind of whistling sound at the mentioning of the name. Clearly, the Air Commander's reputation had preceded him. Then again, Jazz had to have spent the last thousand of orns under a collapsed bridge not to be familiar with the copious rumours and legends of varying truth that surrounded the Second in Command.

"Whoa, that's pretty impressive, being in a trine with the famous Starscream... I'm sure that's a most... interesting experience," Jazz commented with a big grin, putting additional stress on the second to last word, making it sound like he didn't really mean in it a positive way.

Thundercracker suppressed a snicker; being teamed up with the screechy, ever-complaining Starscream was indeed an experience in its own right.

"Let's just say that you need to have audio receptors of steel to handle being in his team," the Seeker said, almost regretting the words before they had left his mouth. Talking unfavourably about a superior officer – and the Second in Command, no less – might come back to bite him in the aft, should word get around.

Jazz's next comment made him relax a bit, though.

"Yeah, superior officers can be a pain in the aft. Heh, I remember the first lieutenant I got assigned to right after I had joined up..."

Once Thundercracker was finished showing Jazz the training areas, he already knew, in vivid detail, all the embarrassing ways in which Jazz's first commanding officer's very un-Decepticon-ish fear of heights had expressed itself. Not to mention, how his next one had had a strange liking for getting mud caught in the most unmentionable of places.

Somehow, Thundercracker felt in a better mood than he had in a long time. Perhaps being Jazz's mentor wasn't so bad when it all came down to it.

* * *

"Hey, TC, wait up!"

The addressed mech stopped and turned at the jarring sound of his abbreviated name, already knowing that he would be greeted by the sight of his black and purple wingmate.

"Wow, you sure seem to be in a hurry," Skywarp remarked as he closed the last of the distance between them. By the sound of his panting, he must have been half-running to catch up. "Going anywhere in particular?"

"Not really, no," Thundercracker answered non-committingly, although he had a good mind to lie and make something up for the occasion, since he already had more than an inkling of the reason Skywarp had sought him out.

His reply was followed by a faint look of relief on the face of the other mech. "Oh, good!" he exclaimed a bit too jovially for Thundercracker's taste, "'Cause I figured maybe we could..."

Thundercracker already knew what would be coming next. He winced inwardly.

"... take some time to bond? It's been a while, you know," he said pointedly, as if he thought that his wingmate ought to feel guilty for this omission.

Which Thundercracker most certainly didn't.

And really, he wanted to say no, but his own bond was screaming at him to accept the invitation, to grab for it with both hands like an energon-depleted mech would an energon cube.

For the umpteenth time, he cursed the undesirable connection that took hold of his emotions, turning a resolute 'no' into a grudging 'yes'. But Skywarp was right; it _had_ been a while since last time. And he was familiar enough with the demands of a bond to know that if he didn't accept now, then in a few days his bond would irk him like a persistent rust itch that wouldn't go away, spreading over his entire body until it was no longer possible to ignore.

It was an insatiable beast, demanding to be fed with regular intervals. And it would only make things worse if he refused it.

Sighing, he submitted to the parasite. He might as well get this done with, or – Primus forbid – in a few days' time _he_ might be the one crawling back to Skywarp asking for a bonding.

He looked at the other Seeker, who was regarding him with a pleading, expectant expression on his faceplates.

It looked truly ridiculous on him.

"Yeah, why not," Thundercracker replied curtly, this time avoiding meeting with Skywarp's optics. He already knew that his reply had resulted in open lust playing on his wingmate's face, and he didn't really want to see that. Skywarp's bond apparently held the black and purple Seeker in a tighter grip and exerted a stronger effect on its owner than Thundercracker's. Although it was a small relief that he himself was not quite as affected by it as his wingmate, it also resulted in Skywarp seeking him out more often than Thundercracker would have liked.

Oh well. At least it meant that _he_ didn't have to ask Skywarp for it. Having to ask Starscream was bad enough.

"Whose quarters – yours or mine?" came the annoyingly cheerful response.

"Yours," Thundercracker quickly decided. "The berth is larger." Not to mention, there was the added benefit of him being able to leave for his own quarters once they were finished. Skywarp had a tendency to slip into recharge rather quickly and soundly after having overloaded, which meant that Thundercracker had to spend the rest of the night with his snoring wingmate.

"Yours are closer, though," Skywarp helpfully pointed out, obviously clueless to his trinemate's reasoning.

"Well, we're in no hurry," Thundercracker remarked, and then turned to walk in the direction of his location of choice before Skywarp would have the time to argue any further

"The black and purple Seeker didn't push the point, but simply shrugged and headed after his wingmate.

* * *

Thundercracker had to admit that Skywarp's recharge berth was rather comfy. Still, he'd much rather be sitting on his own right now. Alone.

He studied the drab wall in front of him, purposely ignoring the arm that had slid around his waist, its fingers gently exploring a seam in his side. During his fairly regular visits in here, it had become something of a game for him to try to spot if anything had changed since last time.

It hadn't. The room was still sparsely furnished, Skywarp's rather meager possessions placed in the storage racks or lined up in small heaps along the walls. In most respects, the room was a copy of his own quarters. Individuality wasn't something that was encouraged among the Decepticon faction, their standard lodging and furnishing being an inevitable reflection of that.

As the fingers dug deeper into his side, he fleetingly wondered if Skywarp's experience of bonding with him was similar to his own bonding sessions with Starscream. From what he could tell, the Air Commander had no need for them, and his sole reason for going along with them was to appease Thundercracker's own needs. If the underdeveloped bonds that Starscream had with his trinemates made him feel any of the same cravings that they did, they clearly didn't manifest themselves as often.

Just like how Thundercracker was less needy than his black and purple trinemate, and yet, obliged to give in to those demands. Decreasing the efficiency of one's trine by denying one if its members this necessary outlet went against protocol. Some might even go so far as to consider it an act of passive sabotage. In either case, it was unacceptable.

He shrugged off the thoughts, and returned his focus to the duty that lay ahead of him. And considering how the bond squirmed in delight as he lifted a hand to touch the part of the wing that hovered tantalizingly above Skywarp's shoulder, it was more than a duty this time, even for him.

Skywarp gasped a little at the touch, and then started to run his hand along Thundercracker's side more insistently, as if the unexpected physical contact had pushed a hidden 'activate' button. The fingers played around at for a little longer, before finding the courage to dive between the armour plates and help themselves to the cables underneath.

Thundercracker felt a shiver pass through his frame as a current of electricity sped along his wires and out to the connecting circuitry. His insides tingled as the cables were suddenly rubbed together, friction and pleasure heating them up. A faint annoyance lingered at the back of his processors at his body responding so quickly to the tactical stimulation. He liked to think of himself as having more self-control than that.

Skywarp had no such qualms. Lustfully, he was already pressing into his partner, purple chassis grinding against blue metal plating, as if he were trying to get their sparks to join before the casings were even open.

Thundercracker reached around the panting form before him, arms encircling the other and grabbing for even more of the black wings. They were the most sensitive part of a Seeker's anatomy, and he could probably cut the process a bit shorter by stimulating them straight away, considering how quickly Skywarp was responding to their physical activities.

Well, not just Skywarp. He as well.

_It _had_ been a while since their last bonding_, he hurled at the self-loathing that wanted to break free at the admission. The bond always made him react more strongly the more time had passed, and it was precisely that seemingly unbreakable control that it exerted on him that he loathed so much. It was frustrating to be steered around like that.

He trailed the outline of a shivering wing, and then moved his hand upwards, rubbing along the smooth metal. Being equipped with the same anatomical structures himself, he knew exactly where to touch to achieve the greatest effect, and Skywarp was slowly but certainly melting into a puddle at his ministrations.

There was a weight on his shoulder as his partner's head came to rest against it. The hot breath that was coming in quick pants against his chest made his spark resonate within its casing, as the other mech greedily pulled him closer. The caresses that were claiming his own body were making him oddly light-headed, as if his thoughts had spontaneously drifted away from his processor in order to make room for physical sensations instead.

The stubborn intentions not to enjoy this, not to let himself overload, reluctantly dissolved into a fleeting nothingness, as had they never existed in the first place. But it was alright. For once, he might as well let himself go and lose himself in the experience. Control could always be regained later.

He didn't bother to try and hold back an undignified gasp as groping fingers made contact with his own wings, jolts of pleasurable sensations rocking him. The touches were so searingly hot it seemed like a miracle that they weren't actually leaving scorch marks on him. He leaned back, pressing the sensitive structures against those wonderfully talented hands, feeling a part of his consciousness detach itself from his normally tightly held control as he lost himself into the glorious sensations.

Then, suddenly, Skywarp kissed him. A full lip-lock, a foreign appendage invading Thundercracker's unprepared mouth, roaming at first and then playfully stroking against his own glossa.

_What the flying frag?_

Thundercracker reeled back in shock, instinctively pushing the other mech away from him as if he had suddenly transformed into a metal-eating monster equipped with viciously snapping jaws and spiky teeth.

"Skywarp, that's _disgusting_!" The blue and white Seeker wiped at his mouth as he stared at his wingmate in abject horror.

Skywarp was sitting half-sprawled on the berth with his arms behind him for support, having almost been knocked to the ground by Thundercracker's violent reaction. The look on his face conveyed almost the same amount of shock as Thundercracker was feeling.

"Sheesh, relax." The black and purple Seeker eventually found his voice, and he sat up a little straighter. "It's only a kiss. I thought you might like it."

Thundercracker glared daggers at him. "Thought I might _like_ it? Decepticons don't 'kiss'. What made you think I would want to be subjected to such a repulsive action?"

The other merely shrugged, an unreadable expression on his face. "The Autobots do it," he stated simply, as if that would be justification enough. "Or so I've heard."

"That's because they're _Autobots_. _Ground-huggers_!" Thundercracker almost yelled in frustration, enunciating each syllable clearly as if he were talking to a dimwit. He was amazed that Skywarp could have even thought of such a thing. It was common knowledge that that kissing was a filthy, degrading act, unworthy of true Decepticons.

But then again, Skywarp didn't seem to have much shame in him, at least not when it came to interfacing. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so surprised to learn that the other mech didn't mind trying his hand at even the most repulsive of Autobot practices.

He could only imagine what would happen if Skywarp ever pulled a similar stunt on Starscream. The Air Commander would probably slag him on the spot without a second's thought or notice.

"Alright, let's just forget about it," Skywarp said, a childish, mopy pout on his face. "No need to flip out like that."

Thundercracker held back the mocking remark that wanted to take shape in his vocalizer, deciding that asking Skywarp just how many Autobot tailpipes he had stuck his glossa into to end up such an expert on their interfacing techniques would probably only earn him a fist to the face.

He heaved a sigh. Perhaps this was just Primus' way of testing him. If so, he should have passed with flying colours, considering that he hadn't exploded in justified rage and ripped Skywarp's wings off his back.

"So, can we continue then?" the black and purple Seeker asked impassively, slightly twisting his form and drawing one of his legs up to place himself in what he erroneously must have thought was an alluring position.

The display made Thundercracker feel a vague sense of unease, but the emotion was quickly overridden by the demands of the bond as it prodded him to take Skywarp up on his offer.

He had learned long ago that it was no use fighting back, and obligingly reached out a hand towards the purple metal that lay stretched out before him, inviting him to gorge himself on the twisted pleasures on display. An almost imperceptible trembling reverberated through the armour as he touched it. Thundercracker was overwhelmed by a sudden urge to pull his hand back, but it seemed as impossible as if it had been welded to the other's chassis. Rational mind curled up in a tiny corner, he watched, as from another dimension, his fingers trail their way along seams and metal plates, as were they under the control of an external force.

Disgust and longing. Loathing and wanting. Discomfort and pleasure. Such conflicting, contrasting feelings, and yet, they were simultaneously whirling within him, each vying for dominance, occasionally getting the upper hand, never fully managing to evict its polar opposite from the curious mix of emotions.

He let it all wash over him, not caring if it would drown him in the process. As much as he wanted to hold back, he knew that he couldn't.

And he hated himself for it.

When Skywarp's spark casing finally opened, Thundercracker wasted no time in roughly pressing his own chassis against the glowing orb, hoping it would swallow him whole.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

Getting to spend time with a mech who wasn't his bondmate was a nice change, and Thundercracker had to admit that he actually liked it.

Jazz was easy-going and friendly, without being pushy or clingy. Also, unlike certain other mechs, he didn't seem too concerned with what Decepticon protocol dictated was proper behaviour or not. While it was hard for Thundercracker to put his finger on it, there was something about Jazz that made him stand out like a sharp nail in an otherwise flat environment characterized by conformation to the norm. It was oddly refreshing, like having several vorns' worth of layers of dust and mud washed off his chassis.

Even though their initial relationship of mentor and newcomer no longer required it of them, and the time they spent together ought to have quickly dwindled into nothing as Jazz settled in, the two mechs were still frequently keeping each other company. And for the Seeker, it was a rare luxury to be able to find relaxation from his long days of training or going on missions with his wingmates.

It wasn't only that he disliked the other two members of his trine; his reluctance to be in their presence went deeper than that. He didn't like being reminded of how the bond affected him, like he were a simple machine that could be manipulated by a couple of tweaks of the right buttons, no longer retaining the claim on his own emotions. And the mere sight of Skywarp in particular was enough to serve as that reminder.

No, he didn't like it one bit. He supposed it wasn't his trinemate's fault, but he couldn't help it. At times he just wanted to punch the other Seeker's face in.

But now, walking back to base with Jazz after a long night out, a mild buzz in his head from the high-grade he had been consuming, Thundercracker felt better than he had in a long time. While he normally wasn't much into drinking, getting away from the stifling atmosphere at headquarters had turned out to be a much-needed relief. And despite the shoddiness of the bar they had visited, the place had felt like an oasis, mercifully free of his bondmates and everything that reminded him of them and the bonds they shared.

True, he hadn't been very keen on the idea at first, but Jazz had been insistent. And that mech _really_ did enjoy having a good time.

Even though it was late, the streets were still busy – inebriated mechs stumbling back to their quarters; a group of 'Cons, arms slung over their comrades' shoulders, singing, out of tune, a popular Decepticon war song; and yet others brawling in some filthy street corner. Thundercracker ignored them all, focusing on the refreshing chill of the cold night air as it circled through his intakes.

"So what made you join the Decepticons?"

The sudden personal question surprised Thundercracker. But as he was in a good mood, he decided to throw caution to the wind and give his comrade a truthful answer. "Because I saw it as an opportunity to make the most out of my flying skills. No other institution or cause would have let me hone them like this."

Jazz nodded thoughtfully, but said nothing.

"Well, that and the obvious superiority of our cause over that of the Autobots," Thundercracker added hastily, just to be on the safe side. It wouldn't do to show anything less than one hundred percent ideological conviction in front of a newcomer. Mechs had been reported to their superiors for less.

"You sure like flying, don't you?" the saboteur said, not paying any attention to Thundercracker's little out-of-place proclamation of loyalty.

Thundercracker's facial features softened as his favourite subject was brought up. Of course he liked flying. It was his _life_.

"There's nothing better. Just being in the air, having full control, seeing the ground swishing by below you, knowing that nothing can touch you. Nothing can compare to that. It's like the whole world is suddenly yours, you know?" he said, not caring how corny it sounded or that he was probably babbling like some ancient mech reminiscing about old war memories.

"Yeah, I can understand that. And seeing you Seekers going at it, sometimes I do wish I had your abilities too." There was an odd sort of moroseness to Jazz's words, almost like he was mourning a dead comrade.

Thundercracker shrugged, a bit embarrassed. "Not everyone is cut to be in the Decepticon Air Division, but that doesn't mean that there aren't other positions that are just as important."

"True. It would still be nice to be able to fly, though."

"You mean, it would be nice to have an alt-mode specifically designed for flying," Thundercracker corrected him. As much as he pitied those of his comrades who didn't transform into something that sported a pair of wings, he was well aware that some functions did demand other types of alt-modes.

Soundwave was a prime example – a high-ranking mech whose ability to take the form of a communications tower had proved very useful over the years. A flying alt-mode would have been more or less wasted on him. Obviously it was the same for Jazz. Being a spy meant he had sometimes gone undercover among the Autobots, and hence he transformed into a simple ground vehicle like most of them.

Still, they could all fly though, even if not all were as graceful or competent as those who had been specifically designed for it, like Seekers or Triplechangers.

Jazz regarded him coolly, one optic ridge slightly raised. "No, I mean that I can't fly at all," he said matter-of-factly, as if he had talked about a scratch in his paintjob rather than what could among the Decepticons best be described as a severe physical disability.

The Seeker turned to stare at his black and white comrade, mouth gaping wide open. "But..." There was a long hesitation as Thundercracker searched for the appropriate words to express what he had always taken for granted. "You're a _Decepticon_. All Decepticons can fly."

He knew that the words came off as obstinate and simple-minded, but the ineloquent statement captured his view on the subject as succinctly as any elaborate explanation. He had never heard of a Decepticon who couldn't _fly_.

"Not me." Jazz still seemed unfazed by Thundercracker's incredulity, as he made an attempt to explain. "I'm a spy and a saboteur. Its part of my job description to infiltrate Autobot cells and pose as one of the enemy, so I need to look the part. That's why my entire flight system has been removed, as to minimize the risk of my real affiliation being found out. Otherwise I might find myself in a situation where an Autobot medic gives me a check-over and discovers that I come equipped with spiffy things like a jet engine and an altitude meter. Even the Autobots are smart enough to figure out what that means."

"But even they have some mechs with aerial alt-modes..."

"Yes, but it's not that common. By posing as a true ground-hugger myself, chances are a lot smaller that a suspicious Autobot will consider the possibility that I might actually be a 'Con."

Jazz made a short pause before continuing. Perhaps he was expecting Thundercracker to say something in the silence that followed, but the Seeker seemed to be suffering from a noticeable loss of words.

"It's the same reason I wear my visor, really. While there are some Autobots out there with red optics as well, the feature is usually associated with Decepticons and so I cover them up as to not arouse any unnecessary suspicion." He smiled. "And the same reason my faction symbol is not permanent but can be removed quite easily and be replaced with an Autobot one. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices, that's all."

Thundercracker's word whirled. To him, it was unimaginable how someone – how _anyone_ – could willingly and knowingly give up their flying abilities. No matter how he looked at things, no cause or benefit could possibly be worth such a momentous sacrifice.

He was assaulted by a vague sense of unease that slipped through the seams of his armour like warm oil, gushing into his joints and circuits. Of course, he had always felt himself and the other Decepticons to be superior to the Autobot ground crawlers, but now that conviction was sporting a deep crack in its surface. Because when it all came down to it – where did that put _Jazz_?

At the one hand, Jazz apparently did not share the one trait that Thundercracker had always cherished, elevated and worshiped. According to the beliefs that he had ascribed to since even before joining up with the Decepticons, his comrade should be no better than a simple, loathed Autobot, worthy of scorn and derision.

On the other hand, Jazz had sacrificed more for the Decepticon cause than Thundercracker ever had, and hopefully would ever have to. Seen from that perspective, what right did he have to look down upon his flight-less comrade?

The notion was a disturbing one, to be sure. So were the conclusions that could be drawn from it. Especially considering that this tightly held and dearly cherished conviction of his had played a large part in what had made him join Megatron and his cause. It hadn't been the only thing, of course, but perhaps the weight that had tipped the scale. Not that he would have joined up with the Autobots – they were far too ideologically wishy-washy for him – but perhaps he might have chosen to remain a neutral, independently pursuing his own life and interests as well as he could with a war raging outside.

They continued to walk in silence. Thundercracker's processor was still working frantically, trying to make some sense out of the situation and where it put him. He wasn't sure he would like where the now uprooted pieces of his worldview would end up once they had rearranged themselves and found their new places, no doubt in a strange and unfamiliar pattern.

There was one thing he had to know, though.

"What was it that made you give up your flying ability? I wouldn't trade that in for anything," Thundercracker asked, half expecting Jazz to explain that he had been, if not outright forced or ordered, then at least strongly encouraged to do so.

"Well, in the end it was my own choice," Jazz said, as if he had guessed what was going through his comrade's mind. "As a new recruit, I was stuck doing fairly simple routine missions – nothing very exciting or out of the ordinary. Like planting bugging devices into Autobot buildings and such."

Thundercracker made a confirming sort of grunt – indeed, that didn't sound all too exciting.

"At first I thought I'd do it just to serve our cause, like everyone else was doing their part. But I soon realized that I actually enjoyed the thrill that came with it. And it didn't take long until I was volunteering to go on riskier and riskier missions, the kind where I would have to put all my skills to good use to even make it out in one piece..." Jazz's voice trailed off somewhere in the far distance, as if he before his inner eye was seeing the new recruit he had once been, burning with youthful eagerness and a will to prove himself.

The saboteur gave a kind of shrug that hinted that he found what he was about to say a bit silly. "I guess that was one of the reasons that made me join the 'Cons. I just didn't want to be the mech who'd sit at home and let all the action happen somewhere else, you know? I've never been one for the quiet, simple life. Some mechs are happy with that, but it's not for me." Jazz offered his comrade a lop-sided smile.

"Of course, all that was really nothing more than dreams and wishful thinking, until I heard Megatron giving one of his speeches and got drawn in by the picture he was painting of the future to come. And I thought that that was as good a place as any to find myself a bit of action and excitement, and to be a part of that new world we were going to build..." Again, the black and white mech turned quiet, as if not sure whether he should continue with his trail of thought or not.

Their footsteps were echoing eerily between the walls of the tall buildings that flanked the narrow streets. Pools of light illuminated the ground on regular intervals, emanating from the street lamps hovering above the two mechs. The sporadic illumination made oddly shaped shadows dance on Jazz's face, partly hiding it in darkness, giving the illusion that he was wearing some sort of bizarre, otherworldly mask on his faceplates. Thundercracker frowned slightly at the uncanny effect.

Jazz's cheerful voice made it dissolve into nothingness, turning him back into the happy-go-lucky mech that Thundercracker had gotten used to.

"Anyway, to cut a story short, I soon realized that the excitement of a risky mission was almost like an addiction to me. I liked the danger of it, and wanted more. But looking like a Decepticon, there were only so many opportunities available for me when it came to the types of missions I could be selected for. For many of the really challenging ones, it was a prerequisite that you could physically pose as an Autobot in order to infiltrate one of their cells or groups," he explained, gazing into something in the far distance.

Thundercracker already knew where Jazz's little expose was going, but he found himself listening intently. Partly because he wanted to hear in Jazz's own words how he justified his immense sacrifice, but also because it was fascinating to hear someone else describe their reasoning behind choosing to side with the Decepticons. It wasn't normally something that was openly discussed, as if there was some sort of unvoiced but yet acknowledged taboo associated with it.

And in a way, there was. A true Decepticon soldier was ideally supposed to have joined up out of loyal, undying conviction to the cause, nothing else. Having other, personal motives as well didn't fit into that equation. Not that it was outright forbidden, but such things just weren't talked about.

In light of that, it was oddly relieving for Thundercracker to hear it confirmed that he wasn't the only one who had his own underlying, unofficial reasons for being a Decepticon. And he was happy that one of those other mechs happened to be Jazz.

"So," the saboteur continued, "In the end, I had to make a choice. Either continue with the moderately exciting missions I was being sent on, or give up my flying ability in return for the sort of missions I had always craved. And the outcome of that choice," – he gestured toward his own black and white form – "is this."

The Seeker had to admit that the explanation made sense, as inconceivable as it was for him to grasp on a personal level. And it did seem more in line with Jazz's character than having the sacrifice being born out of an outstanding level of dedication to the Decepticon cause. In a way, he guessed it wasn't too different from his own love of flying.

"But haven't you ever regretted it?" Thundercracker blurted out, his circuits still experiencing an unpleasant tingle at the whole concept.

The saboteur heaved a barely audible sigh as his gaze travelled skywards; perhaps he was reminiscing about the long gone days when he was still in possession of those now lost capabilities, picturing his own form painted against the dark skies above.

Then his visored optics turned back to meet Thundercracker's. "No, I haven't. Flying is nice, and I do miss it, but it's not everything. What I like most; what I get out of a mission... is the _thrill_."

The Seeker contemplated this for a moment.

"I suppose I can understand that. Not giving up flying as such, but the sort of feeling you're talking about, and how it's more important than anything else."

Jazz nodded. "Exactly. I figured that if anyone would understand that, it would be you. But most don't even try; they'd sooner knee-jerkingly scorn and look down on someone who can't fly, rather than consider the reasons behind that choice."

"Uh-huh."

Jazz's words embarrassed Thundercracker. Mere kliks ago, he had himself been a prime example of the kind of mech Jazz was talking about. In that moment, he was very grateful that he had yet to give voice to his deep-seated convictions in front of his comrade.

Although now, he wasn't sure what to make out of those convictions anymore. They had always appeared so mercifully simple and obvious, and a perfect justification for things or situations that would otherwise have cried out for deeper reflection and further considerations, and perhaps not entirely comfortable ones. But his convictions had always enabled him to push all that back to the deeper recesses of his processor. Perhaps he wouldn't be able to do so anymore. The realization made him feel a strong sense of unease, almost bordering on nausea.

Maybe it was only an effect of the high-grade.

As the two mechs turned another corner, the imposing silhouette of their headquarters, stretching towards the skies above, came into full view. The dark structure was sharply outlined against the horizon, looming like a crouching beast ready to pounce at its unsuspecting pray. While Thundercracker had never noticed it before, seeing the Decepticon base at this distance and angle gave it a strangely sinister quality, as if it was just waiting to rise up and reveal a greedy, gaping mouth that would swallow him in one bite once he was close enough. Trap him within the confining darkness of its belly and keep him prisoner in there for the rest of eternity, refusing to ever let him go free again.

Yes, perhaps he had simply had too much energon. When it all came down to it, he rarely over-energized and wasn't used to the effects.

Shrugging his head to clear it from the high-grade-induced mists that were clouding it, Thundercracker retched as the motion almost made him purge his fuel tanks.

* * *

_**End note:**__ Even if this chapter, like most sources, portrays Soundwave's Cybertronian alt-form as a communications tower, privately, I still stand firmly and proudly by my conviction that it's a lamp post. _


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's notes: **__Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing this story so far; I love you all! (In a non-creepy way, of course.)_

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

The blue and white jet made a double roll, without even noticeably needing to slow down his impressive speed. Skywarp had to admit, as he stood on the training field below, watching his trinemate practicing his flying maneuvers, that Thundercracker was _good_.

Well, he darn well should be, considering the amount of time and effort that that mech was putting in. Perhaps a little _too_ much, in Skywarp's own, humble opinion.

Still, it was a nice change of pace to have Thundercracker on the team rather than the late Cloudstriker. He remembered well the self-assured, cocky flier, acting as if he were immortal and his armour impenetrable to laser fire. Not to mention, the little barbs he would, whenever opportunity presented itself, throw at Skywarp for being of a somewhat more cautious nature than him. Although, Cloudstriker had preferred to refer to that particular trait as 'cowardly', and especially so when there were other mechs around who pretended not to hear the verbal exchanges of the two fliers, but yet listened attentively.

No, Skywarp didn't regret the day some Autobot had blasted Cloudstriker out of the sky, turning him into an unrecognizable, burnt-out carcass. But despite the lack of emotional attachment he had had to his trinemate, it had still been a painful experience. Having a bondmate killed was like having a leg or a wing ripped off, only difference being that the pain wasn't physical.

He shuddered at the memory. Hopefully, it would be long before he would have to go through a similar ordeal again. In that sense, he was glad that Thundercracker seemed to be a rather careful mech – a lot more so than himself. The corners of Skywarp's mouth turned upwards as he imagined what Cloudstriker would have thought of the blue and white Seeker. 'Cowardly' wouldn't have come close to giving his opinions justice.

No, Thundercracker wasn't likely to get himself killed off any time soon, so there was no need to worry. And Starscream, well, he was Starscream. As good as immortal, it seemed.

Feeling his neck cables starting to take a strain from staring up into the sky for so long, he reverted his gaze back to normal optic level again, wiggling his head a few times to each side to get rid of the stiffness. Then his optics suddenly narrowed; on the opposite side of the field a dark figure was standing, looking up at the soaring blue and white jet just like Skywarp had done a few moments ago.

There seemed to be a strange kind of longing in his stare as he tracked Thundercracker's movements; even at this distance it was obvious to the other Seeker. And the distinct black and white paintjob, combined with the sudden gleam of light hitting a visor, left no doubt as to the watcher's identity.

Jazz.

Skywarp frowned.

The saboteur didn't pay him any heed; his full attention was focused on the airborne mech, as if the stunts he were performing were the epitome of aerial mastery. Well, granted some of them _were_ pretty impressive, but it wasn't as if Skywarp couldn't pull them off himself. _Any_ Seeker worth the name could.

An unbidden tinge of annoyance stirred in him. What was Jazz doing here anyway, ogling like some stupid Autobot who had never seen a mech fly before? This was _Seeker_ training ground, after all.

He glared at the intruding saboteur, who seemed utterly unfazed at the stare that was trying to burn a smoldering hole into his chassis. There was a scowl on Skywarp's face as he felt his usual cheerful mood take a rather sharp downturn.

Some of it returned, though, when he saw the telltale signs of Thundercracker going in for a landing in the middle of the field.

_Finally_.

The jet transformed and took ground, elegantly and effortlessly as always. While metal plates were still swinging and sliding into place, Skywarp briskly walked over to his trinemate, making sure he would reach him before Jazz did.

"Hey TC!"

Without warning, a hand clamped down on Thundercracker's shoulder, making the blue and white mech jerk in surprise. The involuntary movement was followed by a look laden with distaste as the Seeker eyed the offending appendage that had taken to rest on his chassis.

The recently transformed mech slowly turned around, not bothering to hide the grimace on his face. "Would you _stop_ calling me that?" he snapped, optics narrowed in annoyance.

Silence followed as the hand hesitated for a few astroseconds, and then it was removed, dropping to Skywarp's side. A long moment passed by as the optics of the two Seekers met, annoyance manifested on one face, and confused surprise on the other.

The tenseness that reverberated in the air between the two was almost tangible, and Skywarp felt himself growing uneasy. Thundercracker's vehement response had taken him unprepared, and he wasn't sure how to respond to it.

Well, perhaps he had just caught his wingmate at a bad time. The general opinion around base of Thundercracker as a bit of a grumpy killjoy wasn't unfounded, after all. Perhaps he was simply unhappy with his own performance during today's practice, and so his innocent, undeserving trinemate had taken the brunt of his annoyance.

Skywarp chose to ignore the unfriendly remark, refusing to let the other's dreary attitude get to him. "Hey, say we go for a drink of energon? You've been flying around here all day, you could use some relaxation!" he suggested, hoping his friendly offer would serve to put his wingmate in a better mood.

_Indeed_, he thought. Thundercracker was way too tense. He really needed to lighten up and let himself go more often, or he'd fry his circuits one day or the other.

The white and blue mech merely shrugged. "No thanks, I'm tired and don't feel like drinking." Before the last word had left his vocalizer, he had already turned around and headed off in the opposite direction, leaving Skywarp to stare dumbfounded at his retreating form.

His cheerful mood ruined, Skywarp had a good mind of yelling something scathing at the blue back, but decided to hold his tongue. _Primus, why did he even bother with such a mopy whiner in the first place? _He'd be better off just asking the Triplechangers instead; it wasn't as if either of them would be doing anything worthwhile anyway.

Not to mention, they were fun to hang out with, unlike his constantly grumpy trinemate. Good riddance to him; he'd have a lot more fun with his usual drinking buddies than he would staring at Thundercracker's sour face for the rest of the evening.

_Yes, it was for the better that his offer had been turned down._ Content with that thought, he was about to turn on his heel and leave, when he noticed his wingmate heading straight towards where the saboteur was still standing. Skywarp halted in his tracks, unable to tear his optics away as he watched the two from afar.

They were talking, and though he strained his audio receptors, at this distance the words were lost to him. But more importantly than the specifics of what was being said, Thundercracker's previous hostility seemed to have, for whatever reason, vanished in the presence of the saboteur.

And then, the two walked off together, leaving Skywarp alone, still staring.

He remained standing in the middle of the field like a lifelike but severely misplaced statue, feeling his mood take another nosedive. He didn't have much time to dwell on the turn of events, though, before a swarm of tiny, uncomfortable prickles were stinging his chassis. Instinctively, he looked up, although he already knew what was causing the unpleasant sensations.

Acid rain.

_Great. Just what he needed. _

Luckily, the corrosive qualities of the precipitation were rather low in these parts of Cybertron, so he was in no immediate danger. For a few seconds, he stood indecisive, eying his immediate surroundings for the most appropriate place to take cover, as foul-smelling liquid was streaming down his chassis, gathering into stale, bubbling pools at his feet.

_Yuck._

He spotted an overbuilt shelter at one of the short ends of the rectangular field and hurriedly made a run for it, almost slipping and falling face-first into a puddle of the nasty fluid before reaching safety.

As the rain passed over, Skywarp stood huddled under his makeshift protection, absentmindedly listening to the drops splashing against the shelter, optics vacantly staring into the downpour outside.

* * *

"So what crawled up your afterburner sideways and died?"

"Huh?" Skywarp looked up from his almost untouched energon cube, optics locking with those of the purple mech seated across the table.

"You look bummed out. Isn't like you, that's all," Blitzwing said with a shrug as he evenly meet Skywarp's gaze. "Did Starscream finally rip your spark casing out for fragging him off, or what?"

The Seeker mumbled something that was neither quite audible nor coherent, hoping his vague reply would deflect the poking question. Blitzwing was right though; he _was_ feeling in a rather dour mood right now.

The other didn't press the issue, but instead started to elaborate on an unlikely tale of how some clumsy, nameless mech had ended up impaling himself on his own weapons, accompanied by Astrotrain's loud snorts of amusement.

Skywarp listened with only half an audio receptor to the humbug story, one elbow resting on the edge of the shoddy table in front of him as he traced the rim of his energon cube with a finger. He'd already heard it told twice from other sources, and none of the versions even seemed to agree on such basics as what part of Cybertron the unlucky starring 'Con hailed from, or whether his alt-mode was a jet, a helicopter, or an air carrier.

The three mechs had decided to spend the evening in a run-down bar in one of the less respectable parts of the city. The clientele that frequented the place – and of which Astrotrain seemed to know at least half – was a rather shady lot. Particularly a certain red and black mech, who was looking over his shoulder with regular intervals as if he were expecting someone to jump his back at any second. Skywarp guessed that it wouldn't have been the first time, considering the reinforced protective armour that the mech had gotten added onto his metal plating.

The reek of energon and stale oil, mixed with something of a more pungent nature, was strong on the Seeker's olfactory sensors. He wrinkled his nose in faint disgust. Sweet Primus, what _was_ that unidentified smell? He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

A couple of tables down, a heated discussion was turning into a shoving contest as one burly 'Con stood up and pushed his comrade so violently that he fell sprawling onto the floor. Only an astrosecond later, the downed mech got to his feet with a growl and returned the favour, throwing in a punch as well for good measure.

Skywarp quickly lost interest in the fight. They broke out so frequently that no one usually paid them more attention than was necessary to keep out of the way of the brawlers as they pounded into each other.

Instead, his optics wandered lazily over the walls, the establishment owner's exceptionally bad taste in decoration making him wince slightly.

There was one painting in particular that never failed to catch his optics. At the center of the canvas, a striking mech, straight out of Decepticon propaganda with purple emblem blazing on his chassis, was towering victoriously over his fallen Autobot enemy. That in itself was nothing noteworthy – Skywarp had seen similar idealistic paintings countless of times, and quite frankly, they bored him with their predictable repetitiveness. But what made this one stand out was how the Autobot's chassis had been ripped open, revealing a faint bluish glow from his partly exposed, still not fully extinguished spark. That, combined with the victor's slightly crouched posture as he bent over the other, a hand lingering over his own spark chamber, gave the beholder an impression that the Decepticon was about to perform a spark bonding with the vanquished, dying 'Bot.

_Gross. _

Why anyone would put something like that up in full view was beyond Skywarp. But it wasn't as if that was the only painting in the room that owed its existence to the dark depths of some anonymous artist's twisted, demented mind.

He studied another picture, snarling. _What were those two sloppily painted mechs actually _doing_?_ For all the times he had seen it, he still hadn't been able to figure it out. He wasn't sure if it was even physically possible to perform such acts without tearing one's servos in half.

No, Skywarp couldn't for the life of him understand why Astrotrain was so partial to this place – there were much nicer bars than this, after all – but getting to overenergize with his drinking buddies made the inconvenience worthwhile.

"So, 'Warp, how come you Seekers never associate much with each other like other teams do? I mean, take the Combiners, for instance; you rarely run into one member without seeing at least one of his teammates. Or Soundwave's stupid casseticons that cling to each other like jellified energon. Heck, even me and Blitzwing here stick together, as the only proud Triplechangers around the base. But you Seekers – you just don't."

Astrotrain's sudden question jolted Skywarp out of his little reverie. And as much as he didn't want to admit it, the words had touched something.

"Well, maybe that's because we're more individualistic and independent than other Decepticons," the Seeker said caustically, not liking where this conversation was going. "We don't need to attach ourselves to other mechs like that. Being the pinnacle of Decepticon evolution and all, we get along fine on our own."

He hoped that would be enough to satisfy his comrades.

It wasn't.

"If that's true, then how come you always come crawling to Blitzwing and me, more or less welding yourself to our tailpipes?" Astrotrain remarked snidely, sneering at the Seeker. "'Individualistic' and 'independent' my aft!"

"Give the poor guy a break; it's obvious that he prefers our company over that of the 'pinnacle of Decepticon evolution'," Blitzwing chimed in. "Can't say that I blame him, though." He grinned and flexed his arms, pride at his rare affiliation radiating from him.

"Eh. Starscream is a self-loving aft whose only reason for socializing with anyone would be to admire his own reflection in their chassis, and TC – well, he's just a total bore. No one wants to be around him anyway." Skywarp said, leaning back casually in his chair with arms folded across his cockpit.

"That transfer sure seems to."

The Seeker waved a dismissive hand in front of him, taking a sip from his energon cube before answering. "That's because TC got stuck being his mentor; of course they're gonna be spending time together, that's part of the deal. Only question is who of the two is worse off – TC for having to baby-sit some clueless newcomer, or Jazz for having TC's tedious company forced on him from day one."

Blitzwing sat in silence, looking rather bored, as his two comrades continued with their light-hearted banter, until a look of realization slowly started to creep onto his faceplate. Leaning over the table, he fixed the Seeker with a mirthful stare.

"Oh, I get it now," he smirked knowingly. "You're just pissed that TC prefers that little saboteur over you, even though you're wingmates and all. Poor little 'Warp feels _slighted_, is that it?" He guffawed at his own brilliant deduction, slapping a purple knee in amusement.

Astrotrain wasn't late to join in the laughter, and Skywarp resisted the urge to chuck the remaining energon in his cube into their grinning faces. Or, even better, the contents of _their_ cubes.

But of course, Blitzwing had hit home with his flippant comment. Not that the Seeker was about to actually admit to any of that, though.

The glare he sent the two Triplechangers went unnoticed, seeing as how the intended receivers were bent over the rough surface of the table, convulsing with laughter.

_Yeah, really funny. _

Skywarp's angry reply was lost as one of the brawling mechs from earlier bumped into their table with a colourful curse. An astrosecond later, he and his adversary were rolling around on the floor in an undignified heap, each struggling to come out on top as they tried to rip off whatever metal parts were not welded tightly enough to the other's chassis.

Across the room, the dingy bar owner shouted at them to take it outside, or he would, so Primus help him, mount their ugly heads on the wall for decoration.

The disturbance was enough to bring the two Triplechangers out of their laughing fit, although their faceplates were still twitching as if they were only waiting for an excuse to indulge in rambunctious laughter yet again.

Astrotrain grabbed his energon cube and drank from it in loud, greedy gulps, as if the little humour exercise had depleted his energy resources. Satisfied, he set the container down on the table with a loud _bang_, making some of the contents splatter on his comrades' amour plating.

"Done?" came Skywarp's dry remark as he pointedly swiped off the pink liquid from where it covered his arms.

"Come on 'Warp, we were just having some harmless fun on your expense; nothing wrong with that, is it?"

Skywarp's only dignified that with a disdainful snort.

"Though I guess I can sort of understand it," Blitzwing said slowly. "If I'd been 'Warp here, I'd be pretty annoyed myself if my own trinemate had flicked me off for that saboteur guy. Never liked him much. Even though he's still fairly new around here, it seems he has already been licking enough tailpipe for the higher-ups to fawn all over him." The Triplechanger's words were dripping with ill-hidden disgust and loathing.

Astrotrain's head bobbed up and down as he nodded furiously in agreement. "Yeah, and I heard he got awarded extra energon rations for bringing back some Autobot top-secret information the other day. Bah! As if the rest of us aren't risking our hides for the Decepticon cause everyday or anything!"

"So true. And yet, some of us who have been around here for ages get nothing!"

"Yup." Astrotrain leaned back in his chair, frowning. "Even Megatron seems to like him. Remember in that last encouragement speech he held, how he mentioned Jazz as some sort of paragon of Decepticon virtue, and if everyone carried their missions out as successfully as him, we would already have won the war?"

"Sickening," Blitzwing agreed. He thoughtfully rubbed his chin between two fingers, a hint of something devious playing in his optics. "He seems to be more occupied with showing off than anything else, like he's Primus' gift to our cause. I say the mech needs to be taken down a notch or two."

As on cue, the two Triplechangers turned to Skywarp, ill-hidden glee on their faces.

"So, Master of Stupid and Pointless Pranks, got any suggestions?"


	7. Chapter 7

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

The moment he met with the other's optics, he knew that it had all been a mistake. The red pools in front of him were swirling with barely constrained anger, and all of it was being directed at one specific object.

_Him_.

Skywarp gulped.

"Come on, it was all in good fun. No need to be so upset about it," he tried to defend himself, putting on his best innocent impression but knowing he was failing miserably.

A hand unexpectedly shot out towards him, quick like a laser missile. He gasped as he felt himself being hoisted into the air and then roughly pinned against the wall. The Seeker squirmed futilely against the powerful hand that held him, but his little struggle to regain his freedom had no effect.

Slag it, he had never realized how strong the other mech actually was. A pitiful yelp left his vocalizer as his sensitive wings scraped against the rough texture of the wall. Most likely, there were already flecks of black on it from his paintjob.

He considered trying to teleport himself out of the threatening situation, but such stunts were notoriously risky when attempted under close confinements like the narrow corridor he was currently in, so he decided against it.

"Let me go, you fragger," he demanded instead, although he didn't entertain any notions that his order would be heeded.

The clasp only tightened in response, and the hard face with the narrowed optics drew closer.

"So you thought it would be a good idea to weld a mech that can't fly to the base a hundred meters above ground, huh? Never mind what would have happened if your welding job hadn't held?" The question was dripping with righteous, suppressed rage that threatened to lash out at the constrained Seeker at any moment.

Well, Skywarp had to admit, it _had_ seemed like a good idea at the time. Keeping his personal health in mind, he wasn't about to mention that to his assailant, though.

And it had been such a simple, ingenious plan, carried out so smoothly. He and the Triplechangers had easily nabbed the ground-hugging Decepticon when he was on his own outside the base, and then, despite the struggling of their unwilling captive, managed to fly him several floors up. Using a welder they had discretely 'borrowed' from Hook's medbay, they had nailed Jazz to the outer wall and left him there, staring down at the gaping precipice below.

Oh, how they had laughed, he and his two partners in crime. And so had the passers-by that had spotted Jazz's predicament. If he hadn't had that pissed-off face looming a hand's breadth from his own, the Seeker would have snickered at the memory.

Besides, a newcomer should expect a prank like that. It wasn't as if Skywarp himself hadn't had an equally mean stunt pulled on him during his first days at Decepticon headquarters.

"It was just a prank," he snapped at the other mech, feeling sudden anger rising inside of him. "Why are you being so protective all of a sudden, TC?"

"Because you could have killed him," Thundercracker growled in response. "And as his mentor, it's my responsibility to look after him."

Skywarp sneered at his wingmate's response. "His _mentor_? He's been here long enough to know the ropes; it's not as if he's some slagging drone that just rolled of the manufacturing belt. The two of you should be well past the 'mentor' stage by now."

"Seeing as how he had the misfortune of being the victim of my idiot trinemate's idea of 'fun', I do consider that my responsibility."

"Whatever. Besides, there was never any real danger to him. You're just overreacting to the whole situation like the boring slag sucker you are!"

For a moment, Skywarp wondered if the two black hands before him were about to close around his neck and slowly crush his vocalizer under the pressure.

They never did. Instead, he was suddenly released from the iron grip that was holding him immobilized against the wall. He staggered slightly at the unexpected freedom, and threw his wingmate a nasty glare.

Thundercracker seemed totally unperturbed. "I'd suggest you refrain from pulling any similar stunts on Jazz in the future, or I might see to it that you soon find yourself a few servos short. Or perhaps a wing," he threatened his trinemate.

"Oh yeah? You and what army?" Skywarp shot back.

"I don't need an army to take _you_ on."

"With my teleportation ability, I can evade you as easily as a ground-hugging Autobot!"

"With your teleportation ability, you're more likely to materialize your aft into the nearest wall than anywhere else."

Ooh, Thundercracker knew exactly what would hit home. Skywarp gritted his teeth at the stinging insult. Sure he was well aware of how his control over his teleportation mechanism left much to be desired, but getting it thrown into his face by his trinemate was another thing entirely.

"Don't underestimate my skills, TC," the black and purple Seeker growled, overcome by a sudden wave of anger. "Mark my words; there _will_ come a time when you'll thank me for saving your aft from whatever mess you got yourself into."

"Wouldn't that be the day," Thundercracker said with a snort before he turned to leave. "Now, you've been warned, and you'd do well to remember that."

"Whatever. _Fraghead_."

Thundercracker ignored the last remark.

"And just what happened to the mighty we-Seekers-are-so-much-better-than-those-despicable-ground-huggers Thundercracker, huh?" Skywarp yelled caustically at the blue back before it disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.

He didn't get a reply.

Instead, Skywarp found himself left alone to stew in resentment, hand massaging his abused neck cables. Just what was Thundercracker's problem? They were supposed to be _trinemates_, for Primus' sake.

The other's strong reaction had taken Skywarp by surprise, and it also angered him. It wasn't as if Thundercracker would have cared if he and his comrades had done the same prank to another mech. Or – and that what was stung the most – if Skywarp himself had been the victim of something similar.

And that was the thought that hung mockingly in front of him, parading itself in all its shameless glory before his optics. Taunting him with its bleak, unpalatable truth.

But he couldn't help it – he was jealous of the comradeship he saw in other teams, and other Seeker trines in particular. There was something between their members that transcended the normal, everyday Decepticon camaraderie that was expected from them all. Even if the team members shared a mutual dislike between themselves, they would still stick up for each other when the situation called for it because they were a team, bonded or not.

Even the late Cloudstriker had abided by those unspoken rules. True, he had been a rather unpleasant mech who had enjoyed taking cheap potshots at Skywarp, who certainly had had no love for him. But at least they had held a united front against other 'Cons. Certainly, Cloudstriker would never have taken a stand against Skywarp on behalf of an outsider, as much as he had personally enjoyed brutally teasing the black and purple Seeker.

Starscream, of course, cared nothing about his team, but he was Second in Command and on top of that the most ambitious mech Skywarp had ever encountered, and hence his lackluster dedication was no big surprise. Not to mention that he didn't even care about fulfilling his most basic duties to the trine, so there wasn't much to expect from that direction.

But Thundercracker wasn't Starscream. Some fragging... _loyalty_, if nothing else, would be nice.

With that sentiment uppermost in his processor, he started to make his way back to his quarters, all the while mumbling under his breath an impressive list of creative epithets to describe his blue and white trinemate.

* * *

Staff information meetings were _boring_. Skywarp drew a heavy sigh, hoping the torment would soon be over.

But from the looks of things, it probably wouldn't. Megatron's little speech had, from having started out revolving around their next strategic moves, unfortunately started to deviate until it was touching upon the importance of their glorious cause. And it was all downhill from there.

"... on our quest for rightful galactic dominance. No sacrifice is too great to achieve our goal, and our opponents cannot be allowed to stand in our way to conquest. We must exterminate... "

They all knew this. Was it really necessary to have it repeated during almost every meeting? And in so many polysyllabic words?

The Seeker noticed a gray stain on the armour of his left arm and began to rub at it with a finger. It was persistent, though, refusing to go away under his ministrations. He would probably have to use some solvent to get it off.

"...as the Autobots in their strive for mediocrity are trying to stop..."

Megatron had already given them their orders, so why couldn't they just be done with it? Skywarp was looking forward to go out and blast some Autobot aft, but having to stand here and listen as their leader explained the finer intricacies from that imposing podium didn't fit into that equation.

He let his gaze wander away from the raving leader who seemed enthralled by the vision he was painting before his subordinates, fist waving in the air to properly accentuate the important parts. If Megatron had been any more vivid, he would have been frothing at the mouth.

Out of the assembled mechs, some seemed to be as bored out of their processors as Skywarp was, while others were almost leaning forward towards the podium in enchanted fascination, optics wide and mouths half-open. The latter were probably new recruits, having not yet had it up to their air vents with meetings like this.

His two trinemates were standing to his left and he observed them in secrecy, finding nothing more interesting to occupy himself with. Thundercracker had his usual dull expression plastered on his faceplates, arms crossed over his cockpit as if he were trying to distance himself from the situation he was in. His face didn't convey what emotions were currently going through him, but his posture was stiff and rigid.

At least his no-sense-of-humour wingmate seemed to have finally put behind him the little prank that Skywarp and the Triplechangers had played on the saboteur. Which was fortunate, considering all the dents and scratches Skywarp's armour had ended up with during team practice – courtesy of Thundercracker – the days following the incident.

His red and white wingmate, on the other hand, was glaring disdainfully at the talking mech, impassively shifting his weight between his two feet as if he were just waiting for the appropriate moment to raise his own objections – well-founded or otherwise.

Well, it wouldn't have been the first time. And the results tended not to be pretty, so why the Second in Command persisted in pointing out the logical flaws of Megatron's plans and strategies, Skywarp had no idea. He hoped the vainglorious mech would keep his way too big mouth shut this time so that, if nothing else, the meeting would end quicker.

He had no such luck today.

"... and that's why we need to step up our military actions and focus on preemptive strikes. The Autobots have been mobilizing in the western sections of Cybertron and are currently..."

"With all due respect, _mighty_ leader, the Autobots have been mobilizing in those sections for quite some time now. Why is it that we are only _now_ taking action to meet this threat?" The voice that spoke was slick and oily, as if it took great pleasure in pointing this little tidbit out.

The room fell deathly quiet, as heads turned to let optics fall on the mech who had dared to speak out of turn. The 'Cons standing closest to the offender withdrew a couple of steps from him, either deliberately or instinctively, like he had suddenly turned poisonous, resulting in an empty bubble forming around the red and white Seeker.

Cold red optics looked down at the Second in Command, who seemed to be unperturbed by the steely glare.

"Is there anything you wish to say, Starscream?" There was no mistaking the menacing threat as it coiled itself around the words, turning them into a not-so-subtle warning.

The Seeker chose to ignore it, and instead approached the podium where Megatron was towering above his assembled subordinates. He moved slowly, as if he were trying to stress his own importance by making his leader wait, a self-assured swag in his steps.

"Yes, Megatron," Starscream said as he came to a halt before the gray mech. He was clearly enjoying this, reveling in being at the center of attention. "I was merely wondering why we haven't moved until now? Surely it would have been more prudent to have struck against their assembling forces at an earlier point, before they had turned into a force to be reckoned with?"

The challenge hung heavy in the air. A few mechs shifted uncomfortably, no doubt wishing they were someone else.

"I see even the most basic points of tactics evade you." Contempt and barely constrained anger dripped from the voice. "Up until now, the major parts of our forces have been employed at Helix to crush the resistance there. Reassigning them before the situation was under control would have meant that the city would have been lost to the Autobots."

"Of course. I wasn't talking about Helix." Starscream looked up at the gray mech, glee painted on his faceplates. "I meant those of our forces that were dispatched to _Kaon_. Surely they could have been put to better use in those western sections that are now overflowing with Autobots?"

There was a collective gasp at the mentioning of Kaon. It had never been said out loud, but everyone knew that for all of their leader's military brilliance, that had been a straight-out mistake, brought by trusting incorrect intelligence no doubt deliberately fed to them by the Autobots. Kaon had turned out to be a well-rigged trap, exterminating most of the Decepticon divisions that had been sent there.

Granted, it had been a relatively minor setback in the larger scheme of things, but a setback nonetheless. In hindsight, it was obvious that the forces that had been severely decimated in Kaon should have been used to battle the rising threat in the west instead.

The faceplates of the gray mech drew together in a nasty grimace, as he stepped down from where he was standing to come face to face with his Second in Command. The Seeker's posture tensed but he stood his ground, refusing to back down.

Megatron's chest was almost touching the Seeker's as he spoke. "So tell me, Starscream, are you trying to imply that you would do a better job leading the Decepticons? That your military decisions would lead us to victory more quickly?" The words were but a low growl, but still clearly audible to the on-lookers that were staring at the scene in transfixion.

Starscream seemed to falter for a moment at the direct question, but quickly reverted back to his usual, cocky self.

"If I were leader, I wouldn't have made the kind of blatant mistakes that you..."

The last of the sentence turned into a high-pitched shriek as a hand gripped his wing, slowly crunching the sensitive metal by sheer, brute force. Starscream desperately clawed at the hand in a vain attempt to get it off, but failed miserably. Instead, the iron grip forced him down to his knees on the floor, where he whimpered pitifully.

"Please, Megatron, I only meant..."

"Silence!"

The barked order had its intended effect. The Second in Command's wail quieted down to pathetic sobs as the gray mech leaned over the shivering Seeker. "You are not fit to lead the Decepticons, Starscream. Nor will you ever be."

There was a terrible sound of metal tearing and cables snapping. Starscream collapsed onto the floor with a feral scream as Megatron straightened up, the major part of a white Seeker wing clutched in his grip, energon dripping from the torn fuel lines.

"Now, Decepticons." He disregarded the trembling heap on the floor and looked out over the gathered mechs. Despite giving the impression that he was addressing the rest of his subordinates, no doubt the words were primarily aimed at his Second in Command. "In all wars, sacrifices have to be made, and there will be inevitable losses along the way. Kaon was a prime example of that. But what's important to remember is that, in the end, the only thing that matters is that our cause is led to victory. In that struggle, no one is inexpendable – _no one_. Remember that."

With that, he disdainfully threw the wing onto the floor, as if it had been a disgusting perversity soiling his hand. It clattered dully as it missed the head of its unfortunate owner with only a hand's breadth.

"You all know your orders, Decepticons?"

As on cue, the room reverberated with eager shouts of 'yes, Lord Megatron'.

As Megatron declared the meeting closed, Skywarp threw a glance at his Aerial Commander where he huddled on the ground. He wasn't particularly concerned. Seeker wings, sensitive as they were, could easily be fixed and reattached by a half-decent medic, so it wasn't as if Starscream was in any danger, all his pathetic whimpering aside.

Smiling to himself, Skywarp had to admit that sometimes staff information meetings could actually be quite entertaining.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Thanks to hydraling110 for doing a great job betaing this chapter. _

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

The V-shaped formation of jets soared through the sky, Starscream, as always, in the middle position. Flanking him were his two trinemates, both of them keeping the exact same distance and angle to their commander.

Below them were the streets of Kalis, straight lines intersecting the gloomy landscape. A few isolated lights shone here and there, but rather than providing illumination in the darkness that covered the city like black velvet, their effect only served to accentuate that very darkness.

Kalis. Thundercracker had visited the city several times before the war, and he remembered well what it had been like, before all the unrest and revolts had claimed it, turning entire areas into ravaged battle zones. It had been a beautiful, vibrant place, full of mechs from all walks of life and positions who went about their business, honest or otherwise – merchants, workers, and guards sharing the city with con-mechs, vagrants, and other scoundrel.

But all those mechs that had once walked the streets of Kalis were now long gone. The ones who hadn't been killed or joined up with one of the two warring factions had evacuated the city. The first ones to leave had belonged to the wealthier strata of mechs, others following their example as the violence spread like a virulent disease, until the only ones remaining were a few wretched creatures who survived by scavenging what others had hurriedly left behind.

But the famous spires of the city – its distinctive trademark – still stretched into the sky above, skeletal fingers raised in stubborn defiance in the face of the destruction Kalis had suffered. A sad testament of what the city had once been and the tragic fate that had been bestowed upon its inhabitants.

Thundercracker repressed a shiver as he saw the spires coming closer. They made him think of a bizarre grave monument that rose up from the rubble beneath, definitely and unrelentingly marking the end of an era. He was aware that little else of the city remained, and he was vaguely grateful that there were only a few light sources left, still powered by whatever far-away energy source they had once been hooked up to. That way, he didn't have to actually see the devastation as the trine sped across the sky.

He briefly wondered if any of his two wingmates felt the same vague sense of melancholic loss that now stirred in him. But they had probably never been as fond of Kalis as he had. Perhaps they had never even visited before the war broke out and there was no longer anything left of it to come for. And perhaps he was stupid for letting thoughts like this occupy him during a mission, instead of turning his full attention to scanning the ground below for anything out of the ordinary that could be a sign of Autobot resistance.

But then again, there wasn't supposed to be any enemy activity between them and their intended target; Decepticon intelligence had told them that much. The group of Autobots they had been sent out to destroy was only a small recon team operating under stealth and secrecy, and shouldn't have any military support with it. What the recon team was doing this far into Kalis the information hadn't been clear about, but it was of no matter to the trine. They had their orders clearly cut out for them; anything more than that was unnecessary.

Besides, this was only a routine mission. Get in, annihilate the target, and then get out again. A perfect mission for a Seeker trine whose performance depended on speed and fire power.

"Lower your altitude and stand prepared to switch to attack formation," came Starscream's command. They were the first words that had been uttered between them since the trine had left base. Thundercracker thought the sound felt oddly out of place, like they were intruding in a cemetery, disturbing the quiet solitude. Which, in a way, they were, considering all the mechs, many of them civilians, who had met a brutal, violent death in the city below.

But Starscream was right. They were getting close to the given coordinates, and so they could expect the group of Autobots any time now. It wouldn't be wise to stand unprepared.

The trine descended, in perfect synchronicity. Thundercracker eyed the expanse of ruins that stretched out below them: burnt-out husks of what used to be tall, proud buildings stuck up from the rubble beneath, flanked by streets that were littered with debris and only Primus knew what. There were rumours that there were still empties living in the devastation, the lowest of the low, just barely surviving on the meager sustenance that could be found.

The blue and white Seeker doubted it, though. In the early days after Kalis' downfall, it had certainly been true, but it was highly unlikely that anyone could have survived after so long. Whatever energy sources had been left behind had to be depleted by now, having long ago been mercilessly devoured by the desperate, pitiful creatures that had still remained.

The large holes that had once been windows in imposing buildings reminded Thundercracker of giant optics staring out into the emptiness, bitterly accusing whoever passed by, trying to apportion guilt. The sight was spooky and eerie, and, rational skeptic as he was, Thundercracker could see where all those rumours had come from that claimed that the ghosts of those who had been killed still roamed the streets of Kalis, still hid in the buildings they had once occupied.

Of course, Thundercracker didn't ascribe such ridiculous claims any merit. Only the most stupid, superstitious of mechs would believe such stories. Although it didn't stop the sight from being uncanny.

As expected, there was nothing but stillness below. Nothing stirred or moved as they passed by, as certainly as anything testifying that whatever the city had once been, there was nothing left of that now.

Dead. Kalis was dead.

"As you already know, this is a simple routine mission," the Air Commander's voice broke through the silence, the contempt for his wingmates that always seemed to simmer under the surface not fully hidden. Maybe it was deliberate. "If any of you mess up..."

Before Starscream had the time to finish his threat, the world suddenly exploded in an inferno of white lightening. The peacefulness was ripped apart by lasers that tore through the sky, breaking up the perfect Seeker formation, making a wave of confusion and shock ripple through the trine.

"We're under attack, _retreat_!" Starscream was the first to find his wits in the unexpected barrage, as he expertly darted around the shots that were aimed for his chassis.

Thundercracker didn't need to be told twice. Strong as their own firepower might be, they didn't stand a chance against the full-on assault that had greeted them. Perhaps if they had been prepared for it, but the unknown, unseen enemy had the upper hand now, and the best option was to retreat. And of course, their commander already knew that there was no point in playing the hero, especially not when there weren't any other 'Cons around to see it.

The blue and white Seeker narrowly avoided a shot that was coming straight at him by lunging sharply to the side. Another one strafed his wing, plowing a rift in it as it continued on its trajectory. His pain receptors immediately registered the damage and the burnt circuits, but the wound was fairly minor and wouldn't significantly impede his flying abilities. If that was the worst injury he sustained while getting himself out of this mess, he could count himself lucky.

In the confusion, he had lost track of his wingmates, but the bonds would have told him if they had gotten badly wounded. And it wasn't as if there was anything he could do for them anyway; he had his hands full trying to dodge the unrelenting laser fire that seemed to be everywhere.

He saw an opening in the barrage and went for it. If he could only make it through that passage, he would be safely out of it all.

Without warning, a white-hot pain shot through his side and a tremendous force jolted him back to his robot-form. Angry warnings flashed through his systems, telling him of an impending shutdown. Desperately, he tried to get his knocked-out gyro back on-line to at least be able to orientate himself, only to discover that it was no longer working.

Hot energon and oil were running down his side, but he resisted the temptation to bring his hand up to feel at it. It would only make things worse. All he needed to focus on right now was getting out of the surrounding laser swarm before he took another full on hit like that.

World spinning around him, he made another desperate lunge, hoping he was going in the right direction. Bitter-tasting fear filled him as he felt system after system shutting down, robbing him of what little control he had left.

But he was so close. He would make it... Just an arm's length left...

Another shot tore right through his left wing. He screamed as the agonizing pain shot through him and a cascade of new warnings went off. Nothing obeyed him anymore; his body might as well have belonged to another mech for all the control he had of it.

The last thing he saw was the ground speeding towards him at an alarming rate.

* * *

Skywarp watched in horror as his wingmate fell through the sky. He had already known that Thundercracker had been badly hit, his bond having strongly reacted to the other Seeker's damaged condition.

For a horrifying moment, he was overcome by an immobility that dulled his systems and effectively stopped him from taking any action but staring dumbly at the scene that was playing out before him.

But his processor was still functioning, and it was automatically playing through what few options he had to deal with the situation. He could do what Starscream had done and bolt back to base, leaving Thundercracker behind. In fact, that was the course of action that Decepticon protocol cynically ascribed; there was no point in risking one's own life to save that of a comrade. One death was enough; the Decepticon cause would not be aided by the addition of another one to the count.

But he knew that he couldn't just leave Thundercracker behind. Not his _bondmate_.

Cursing the consequences, Skywarp made his decision. He teleported himself to the other side of the laser barrage – which was now starting to diminish in strength – and then made for where he had seen Thundercracker fall. He silently thanked Primus for his teleportation ability; without it, he probably wouldn't even have made it out of the recent attack alive.

He scanned the ground meticulously, searching for anything that could be a mech hidden in the darkness. He wasn't afraid to be shot at again; once he had made it out of the swarm of laser beams he had seen that their attackers weren't Autobots, as he had first feared, but instead one of Kalis' still functioning automatic defense systems. Plenty of those had been set up after the outbreak of the civil war, and some even well before that by mechs who had, back then, been considered to be little more than doomsday prophets. They were designed to fend off aerial attacks and would be set off whenever anyone passed above them, mercilessly blasting any presumptive invaders out of the sky, or at least forcing them into a retreat.

And finally, catching the attention of his optics, was a gathering of darker shadows that covered something bulky on the ground. Some form or another with the shape and the size of a mech. A Seeker.

Energon flowing wildly within him, Skywarp dove quickly for the shapeless husk beneath. He tried to quench the fear that was welling up inside of him. Thundercracker wasn't dead, the bond told him that much, but he was gravely wounded, and Skywarp wasn't sure he wanted to see the damage with his own optics. For all he knew, his trinemate could be hanging on to a thin thread of life and permanently off-line any moment.

His feet had barely touched ground before he sprinted the short distance to the figure before him, hoping that his comrade wouldn't already be beyond help. Kneeling beside the fallen mech, he grimly noticed that the ground around him was sticky with energon.

Not a good sign.

Thundercracker was lying face up with his limbs sprawling in all directions, some doubtlessly in the wrong ones. Skywarp made a grimace as he surveyed the damage; surely his own arms and legs didn't bend _that_ way. But that wasn't the worst of it. No, most worrisome was the gaping hole in Thundercracker's side, from which fuel was gushing forth at an alarming rate, and thick bundles of torn cables and wires stuck out.

_Primus, no. _

He was no medic, and couldn't fix wounds like this even with the proper tools. A wave of panic threatened to well up within him at the realization that there was very little he could do to help, while the bond twisted in agony and screamed at him to _do_ something.

But he didn't know what. In desperation, he tried to recall the first aid training he had been given as a new recruit in what seemed like a time very long ago and a place very far away. What was the first measure the instructors had said one should take? Something about stabilizing, wasn't it?

The sight of the nasty wound and the energon that pooled around the fallen Seeker seemed to freeze Skywarp's processor and scramble whatever sensible thoughts he still had left, until nothing made sense anymore. His breath was coming in short, quick gasps and his hands were shaking.

_He did not want to lose another bondmate_.

Then suddenly, through the mist of rising panic, he heard, as clearly as on the day the lesson had been given, the dry voice of a medical officer tiredly recite a line that he must have already told new recruits dozens of times.

"_If the damage is extensive, start by looking for ruptured major fuel lines and stabilize the victim by sealing them off." _

Yes. That was it. The panic subsided somewhat, enough to let him stick his fingers into the horribly gaping wound and search for the fuel lines that had been torn off. Fluid immediately covered his fingers, but he relentlessly continued to dig around in the hole, trying not to purge his fuel tanks in the process. Thundercracker was _so_ gonna owe him for this.

He couldn't see much, but his fingers, slick with energon and oil, eventually scraped against something sharp.

The torn end of a fuel line?

He grabbed at it, carefully pulling it out towards him so he could have a look. And no doubt about it, he had been correct. His relief from having found what he had been searching for was quickly dispelled by the amount of fluid that was gushing out of it. He had to do something quickly.

"_Seal them off." _

He had no tools, no clamps, or anything of the sort. But he didn't need them. Applying pressure on the end, the dark metal slowly buckled under his fingers, effectively closing the line and sealing off the flow. Not the most elegant solution, but it would have to do. He fished around in the wound again – an ugly grimace on his face – until he found the other broken end and proceeded to give it the same crude treatment as the first.

_Ugh. _

It was strange how, considering all the energon and fuel he had seen spilt – had spilt himself– in battle, a simple wound could make him feel so squicky. But the bond's violent shuddering inside of him had subsided somewhat, and he allowed himself a few short moments to sit back on the ground and pride himself on his handiwork as he tried to collect himself. At least Thundercracker was alright for the moment, and...

...And what now? A barrage of thoughts as unrelenting as the recent laser fire assaulted him, reminding him of the hopelessness of the situation. Sure, he had bought his wingmate some extra time, but _now_ what?

His optics fixed on the prone, unmoving form on the ground, covered in dark splotches of energon. The metal that made up his outer armour seemed oddly dull, but perhaps that was only an illusion caused by the lack of light. Skywarp clenched his fists as the brutal truth hit him: There was no way he would be able to stage a rescue operation, not when the officer who approved such missions had been one of the most ardent contenders for Cloudstriker's former position. There was no way he would agree to send out a rescue team on behalf of Thundercracker.

Besides, he probably wasn't important enough to merit a rescue attempt under these conditions regardless, member of the most elite Seeker trine as he might be. Starscream might have been, but not Thundercracker.

Skywarp's feeling of impotence and helplessness only increased as he continued to assess the situation. His teleportation ability was of no use here. Even in those relatively rare instances where he managed to keep it under full control, he could only teleport short distances. And he certainly wouldn't be able to accomplish such feats carrying another mech with him. Well, truth be told, he had _sort of_ managed it once, but the little escapade had landed him in medbay after his crashing into a building due to a gross miscalculation, only to awake to a furious Starscream hurling abuse at him for his incompetence.

He snapped back to reality. This was neither the time nor the place to ruminate over old mishappenings. Not knowing what else to do, he awkwardly started to try to arrange Thundercracker's limbs into more natural positions, well knowing the futility of his ministrations. At least it felt better than doing nothing.

He winced as the joints cracked sinisterly; perhaps he was only making things worse with his amateurish tinkering. He let go of the blue arm he was trying to twist and placed it on the energon-covered ground again, grimacing a little at the odd angle.

Flying back to base carrying Thundercracker wasn't an option, either. With such a heavy load, he wouldn't make it high enough into the air to avoid setting off the automatic defense systems that were spread around Kalis, should he fly into their detection radius. And he had no idea where exactly those defended zones were; all he knew was that wherever there was one of those things, there were usually more. And they were well hidden, too. Flying into one of them while carrying Thundercracker would mean the end of both of them.

No matter how he looked at it, no matter how hard he tried to find a solution, the problem at hand seemed unsolvable. The inevitable consequences of such a sentiment were enough to make him want to curl up into a ball right next to his trinemate.

A wave of bitterness and anger directed at Starscream rolled over him. If only that arrogant, selfish piece of slag had stayed behind, it might have been possible for the two of them to bring their wounded wingmate back, sharing the burden of his weight between them.

But no, Starscream had taken off to base, not suffering from any qualms about leaving Thundercracker behind. Sure, Skywarp had seen the Air Commander take a few pretty bad hits from the laser fire, but none of them were immediately life threatening. But, true to his nature, he had only thought of himself and his need for a medbay, disregarding the rest of the trine.

Of course, no one would apportion him any blame for his actions. Leaving a seriously wounded team member behind when far away from base and under fire would raise no optic ridges. It was a fact of war.

Skywarp didn't question that sentiment. It _was_ a fact of war, and only the weak-willed, impractical Autobots would disagree with it. But what made the energon boil within him was neither the harsh reality nor Decepticon protocol that allowed comrades to be left behind. No. What enraged him was Starscream's treachery, his deliberate failure to honour his duty to his wingmates.

A trine was a trine, and Starscream had let his down. Taking without giving anything back. Leaving his two trinemates to deal with all the negatives that came with a bond, while himself skipping out on it all.

Oh yes, Skywarp knew very well about Starscream's little "secret". That he had, one way or another, found a way to keep his own spark out of the bonding and distort the normal process. And whatever travesty of a bond he had with his wingmates, it prevented him from feeling what he should have felt when a member of his trine got injured.

Or died.

And so, Skywarp was alone with his dying wingmate, alone with the pain that would soon follow, while Starscream would go on as if nothing had happened.

It wasn't _fair_. If the obnoxious red and white Seeker had been within punching distance, Skywarp would have planted a fist into that sneering face, superior officer or not.

Again, his optics went to the badly wounded form beside him. The facial features looked nothing but calm and relaxed, totally devoid of the distress that Skywarp was feeling. Like he had already been permanently off-lined.

Sure he'd entertained the thought that Thundercracker was a grumpy, humour-less aft countless times, but...

There was some energon on the gray face, and Skywarp wiped at it in a pathetic display of hopelessness, not caring that his actions served no real purpose. There was nothing left he could do. Thundercracker would die, and that was it.

Hugging his knees, he started to gently rock back and forth where he sat, trying to take comfort in the rhythmic motion as a frightening chill spread in his spark.

* * *

_**End note:**__ Whee, the almighty cliffhanger!  
_


	9. Chapter 9

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Thanks to hydraling110 for doing a great job betaing this chapter. _

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

Kalis was quiet. Not even the smallest movement could be discerned among the rubble and long-deserted ruins. The only things that stood out from the desolation were two metal bodies, one sprawled and one huddled. Both were as still as their surroundings, and to an observing optic the two figures might as well have been lifeless statues, knocked down from their towering pedestals during bitter but long-forgotten battles.

For all of its lack of animation, the scene could have been mistaken for a life-like painting, until a black hand reached towards the figure on the ground. But halfway towards its goal, it seemed to regret its decision and the fingers were withdrawn, their intended mission never fulfilled.

Skywarp had long since given up hope. His options were depleted, and there was nothing left now but to face the inevitable – another dead bondmate. At least this time he was prepared for it, unlike that time when Cloudstriker had had his spark blasted into the next dimension.

And now Thundercracker would go the same way, leaving Skywarp with a broken bond. Unless...

Unless?

He grabbed hold of the suddenly appearing thought before it fluttered away, and then nearly scoffed in derision as he subjected it to more careful scrutiny – it was impossible. It would never work. It was insipid and decisively unrealistic.

It was all he had.

He sat unmoving as the ridiculous plan started to take shape in his processor, trying not to be discouraged by all the ways it could – and most likely would – go wrong. No matter how wrought with risks and dangers, no matter how infinitesimal the chance of success, it was still a lot better than sitting here with no plan at all.

He wasn't even sure if the basic prerequisite for his plan meeting with any sort of success was true, but he clung on to it like a lifeline:

_The Autobots might have a medic with them. _

Ever since he and his wingmates had made the fateful mistake of flying too close to one of Kalis' automatic defense systems, Skywarp hadn't spared the object of their initial mission as much as a single thought. But now, all his spare processor capacity was focused on it, and the possibility that maybe, just maybe, there was a medic among the small group of Autobots they had been sent out to destroy.

Of course, any sane mech would have dismissed the idea as outright stupid. And maybe he was an idiot; it wasn't the first time he had been branded with similar epithets. But, if so, at least he was an idiot with a plan.

He stood up resolutely as if the rashness of the motion would help to mark his decision as definite – a point of no return. For a moment, he debated with himself if he should somehow cover Thundercracker's body from view, but decided against it. Dragging the badly wounded body might only result in more injuries, and who else was around in Kalis to accidentally spot it anyway?

He threw one last glance towards his wingmate – _I'll have you back in shape in no time, just you wait, TC, _he promised silently – and then transformed and took off.

* * *

The streets of Kalis were empty, save for the pieces of scrap metal and torn material from old buildings that were no longer standing. Skywarp grimaced as he stepped over a big metal pole that was lodged across the road, only to almost fall flat on his face as he set his foot down into a sizeable, yet well-hidden hole in the ground. He took comfort in the fact that at least those ground-hugging Autobots would have even more trouble than him getting around in this stupid city, their vehicle modes surely unable to utilize much of the ruined infrastructure.

Granted, right now he wasn't faring much better himself, but he was too close to the given coordinates to dare to do any flying, lest he be spotted. Instead, he continued in this undignified manner, climbing over or walking around the obstacles in his way, the occasional colourful curse muttered under his breath.

As he took a detour around an imposing pile of debris, he could have sworn he heard the ominous crack of something moving behind him. Instinctively, he wheeled around, but there was nothing to be seen.

This city was seriously giving him the creeps. And the stubborn rumours – some more outrageous than others – that were associated with Kalis didn't help. Neither did the recollection of the night before he had left for this mission, when Astrotrain had in his drunken stupor gleefully and in great detail filled him in on all the horrible things that were said to have happened to mechs foolish enough to venture within the city limits.

Of course, Skywarp had brushed it all of with a laugh, which had been all too easy to do when comfortably relaxed with an energon cube in his hand and an arm around a drinking buddy's shoulder. But the bleak surroundings of Kalis rhymed badly with his skepticism of the previous night. And as much as he wanted to tell himself that he didn't _really_ believe in those stories, it was so much easier said than done.

Shrugging off his unease, he relentlessly continued on his path, resisting the temptation to look over his shoulder for what wasn't there. With regular intervals he checked his inner coordination system, estimating the distance to the supposed location of the Autobot camp.

On and on he prodded, his carefulness and vigilance ever-increasing as he slowly approached his goal. It wouldn't do to be spotted first. Then Thundercracker's life would be forfeit, if it wasn't already.

His earlier stride had deteriorated into a creeping gait as he tried to utilize the surroundings to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. His movements became even more irregular and erratic as he darted from ruin to ruin, briefly stopping to take cover in their shadows while scanning the area for anything that would alert him of Autobot presence.

They could be anywhere now. Even behind the next rusty pile of debris or caved-in building.

He was about to move to the next sheltering remnants of a building when something caught his optics, and he startled. In the distance, to his left, he could have sworn there had been some kind of movement.

Not daring to move, he remained in his huddled position, staring intently at the spot where he had seen the presumptive sign of life. But as astroseconds ticked by and nothing stirred again, he was about to dismiss it as nothing more than a figment of his imagination, when there suddenly was another movement.

Again, Skywarp froze. This time there could be no doubt about it: there was _someone_ there.

_It's such a moronic plan. _His processor decided to take this moment as another opportunity to state the blatantly obvious. As if he _really_ needed another reminder.

Disregarding the self-doubts that were pounding on his inner door, demanding that he let them in, Skywarp crept closer. Inwardly, he scowled at the indignity of it all, crawling on the ground like some pathetic Autobot. Indeed, Thundercracker would owe him once this was over; he'd make sure to inform his wingmate of that when he had gotten him fixed.

He repeated that last line to himself. _When_ he had gotten him fixed. Not 'if'.

It didn't take long until his audio receptors picked up the sound of two voices yapping away in Cybertronian; Skywarp couldn't make out any words, but there was no way those voices belonged to anyone but the wretched Autobots. He kept his head down as he inched closer, hoping nobody had noticed the top of his helmet sticking up from the rubble. But the large embankment of junk and debris in front of him that effectively shielded his own view should likewise be protecting him from discovery.

He continued his slow and strenuous crawling, the only interruption being his leg hitting some metal junk with a resounding _clang_, making him stop abruptly in his tracks. For a breathless moment, he could have sworn that the voices ahead of him quieted down, but only a few moments later the conversation continued as if nothing had happened.

Skywarp let the air circle through his vents a few extra cycles – that had been a close one! He needed to be more careful; messing up wasn't an option here.

Crouching at the foot of the embankment, he curiously peered through an opening between two jumbled metal structures that had long ago been shuffled aside with the other junk that had littered the streets. Only Primus knew what all the stuff that comprised his current shelter was supposed to originally have been. Skywarp curled his lips in distaste; here he was, Seeker of the most elite Decepticon trine, hiding from Autobots behind a pile of trash!

He honestly regretted ever having been sent on this mission.

The sight that greeted him was as expected: a camp of Autobots, situated right beside the wall of a blown-out building. Mechs with tacky paintjobs doing, as far as he could tell, nothing worthwhile, idly chattering among themselves – so typical of the Autobot faction. He scanned the small collection of mechs in distaste: a small, red one; a bulky 'Bot with large, shoulder-mounted cannons; a lanky one with way too many colours on his armour; a...

Skywarp's optics came to a halt – the distinct markings on that fourth 'Bot's armour told of his designation as a medic.

_Perfect_.

He grinned to himself, feeling some of his usual cheerful optimism return. Now all he had to do was wait until these morons would go into recharge, and he could move on to the next step of his plan. His smile widened as he settled comfortably with his back against the embankment, hoping it wouldn't take too long.

* * *

Black fingers impatiently drummed against a purple leg, their owner already bored out of his mind. Skywarp had long lost track of the time he had been sitting here forced to listen to the Autobots' mind-numbingly boring conversations.

If they had at least been talking about military issues, such as battle tactics and the like, he could have dealt with it. But no, all their talk revolved around were mundane, inane things. If he had to listen to one more mech spewing forth his pathetic woes to a sickeningly sympathetic comrade about his bondmate being stationed somewhere else, or a supposedly "funny" story about somebody's antics back at base, he swore he would be rushing into their camp with his arm cannons furiously blazing, consequences be damned.

"Oh, did you hear that Lowtow got really fragged at Windrager the other day?" Skywarp heard one of the mechs ask his comrade. At this point, the Seeker honestly couldn't care less which one of them.

"Did he now? So what did Windrager do to tick him off this time?" came the reply as the attention of the addressed mech perked up at the little piece of gossip.

"Well, Windrager claimed that Lowtow had had the audacity to borrow some gun of his without asking. And you know how protective _that_ mech is of his equipment..."

From the amused tone of the reply, the speaker was well aware of this particular not-so-flattering personality trait of Windrager's. "Tell me about it. I remember one time when he wanted to tear the whole base apart in the search of his favourite laser cannon because he was certain someone had stolen it. Turns out he had just forgotten it in the practice area." There was a chuckle and a hearty guffaw at this.

"So anyway, Lowtow tells Windrager that if his gun is gone, he's more likely to find it looking in his own exhaust pipes rather than accusing others of steeling his stuff. Of course, that gets Windrager really fragged off and... "

Skywarp stifled a groan. Were these mechs _ever_ going to go into recharge, or would they continue to talk amongst themselves until the heat death of the universe was upon them all? He tried to block out the rest of the conversation, failing miserably.

The Autobots were such bores. _Thundercracker would have fit in perfectly with them_, he thought sourly.

The thought of his wingmate still lying gravely wounded where he had left him was enough to make him sober up somewhat. At least the unchanged state of his bond ascertained him that Thundercracker was still alive, for whatever that was worth.

Time dragged on. But finally, mercifully, conversations started to die down, as the 'Bots left to settle into recharge in the remnants of the nearby building that the team was utilizing as their temporary base. Only one single mech remained on the outside, patrolling the perimeter for whatever real or imagined threats could be lurking in Kalis.

It wasn't the medbot, much to Skywarp's dismay. He didn't know how long normal guard shifts lasted in the Autobot army, but he hoped they were short enough to necessitate everyone doing their part. Including the medic.

The mech currently on duty appeared to be as bored as Skywarp, humming quietly to himself as he strolled around for a while, and then settled on the ground with his back to the wall. From the looks of it, he had taken to attempt to pry some dirt out from the undersides of his feet.

Skywarp only stared at him in disgust. _Such laxness. No wonder the Autobots were losing the war. _

When there was finally a change of guards, the Seeker perked up from his little world of boredom, but to his disappointment the substituting mech turned out to be the one with the gaudy paintjob, and not the 'Bot he had hoped for.

Again, he settled back, a surly grimace marring his face. The waiting was unbearable.

When the too-colourful mech finally went back into the half-toppled building to wake his replacement up from recharge, Skywarp had deliberately set his hopes low so as to not disappoint himself. There were several mechs left, and it was not unlikely that the medbot wouldn't be on duty at all tonight, seeing as how there was probably only going to be one more change of guards after this, judging by the length of the shifts.

He peered through the opening of his refuge, half expecting that annoying little red 'Bot to step out from the temporary base. As if such a measly warrior would ever be of any use in the case of an attack; Skywarp could easily have taken him out with his hands tied behind his back. But then again, the Autobots had never seemed picky about who they let join their faction.

He did a double-take as the next guard stepped out. It was the medic! Skywarp could hardly believe his good luck; now everything was set for his plan to fall into place.

Or so he hoped. The riskiest part of it was still to come.

He waited until he was certain that the previous guard had gone back into recharge before he assessed the situation. The medic seemed to be taking his duty a bit more seriously than his comrades as he slowly patrolled the area, watchful optics scanning his surroundings. Perfect. Now Skywarp would only have to wait until the other mech came close enough to where he was hiding, and then...


	10. Chapter 10

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Thanks to hydraling110 for doing a great job betaing this chapter. _

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

Ratchet was totally unprepared for the heavy body that collided with his from behind, and neither did he have the time to shout a warning to his recharging comrades before a hand had taken to viciously squeezing his throat, incapacitating his vocalizer. Fear clenched his spark as he felt his feet being hoisted off the ground as his airborne attacker rose with him into the air.

He tried to wriggle free of the arm that was wrapped around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides, but it only held him firmer. Desperately, he tried to turn his head around to at least see his attacker's identity, but the hand that still held his throat in a strong grip effectively prevented the movement. Not knowing who had assaulted him only made it worse, especially considering that this was Kalis and everyone knew what kind of stories flourished about this place.

He made another effort to free himself, but to no avail. This time, his struggle was met with a cruel voice that wheezed into his audio receptors, its harsh edge sending chills along his back.

"If you keep that up, I might drop you, and seeing how you ground-huggers can't even fly, you don't really want that. Unless you have a strong desire to end up as a scrap heap, that is."

Ratchet instinctively looked down, and immediately wished that he hadn't. His insides churned with dread at the highly uncomfortable distance between himself and the ground beneath. He gulped, and tensed.

The voice was filled to the brim with smugness as it spoke again, Ratchet's terrified reaction having clearly not gone unnoticed by his attacker. "Yeah, I thought so," it stated self-assuredly.

Then it turned more urgent as it continued. "Luckily for you, I need your services, so as long as you don't struggle or try anything stupid, I won't harm you."

The words weren't exactly comforting, but Ratchet knew that nothing good could come out of trying to fight back at this altitude, so he relented. He had no idea where he was being taken, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what nefarious plans he was expected to participate in. But at least the derisive term "ground-hugger" had hinted that it was a Decepticon – probably a Seeker – who had abducted him. It made him feel marginally better that at least his attacker was a normal mech of metal and cables and circuits, and not... well, something else.

He couldn't resist the perverse temptation to look down again, flinching as he saw the world rush by in blurry, fuzzy shades. Why the 'Con wanted him, a simple medic, was a mystery, but he was sure he would find out soon enough. Perhaps that was the reason he had been picked over his comrades, since medbots normally didn't carry large arsenals of weapons and had less combat experience. That was the typical display of cowardice one would expect from the Decepticon faction, always targeting those weaker than themselves.

After what seemed like an eternity, his kidnapper slowly dropped his altitude and made for the streets below, to Ratchet's great relief. Instead of touching ground, though, he came to a halt a few arm lengths above it, where he hovered for a moment. Without warning, he then quickly and unceremoniously let go of his load, who fell the short distance and tumbled onto the ground, yelping as he landed with a dull thud.

Rolling around, the medic angrily came to his feet, ready to give the other mech an audio-full for this unnecessarily undignified treatment, Decepticon or not. His words stuck in his vocalizer, though, as he came face to face with a laser cannon, barrel pointed straight at his head.

"Like I said before, there's something I need you to do for me," the mech before him stated simply and to the point. There was a note of stubborn determination in his words that would accept no protests.

Ratchet studied his kidnapper, optics taking in the sleek form and black and purple paintjob that had more than a few recent scratches in it. Yes, it was definitely a Seeker, but he didn't know the name of this particular one out of Megatron's innumerable cronies. It wasn't the infamous Starscream, at least that much Ratchet could tell, but there were no other visible clues as to this one's identity.

"And what makes you think I would agree to aid a Decepticon in anything?" The challenge was all but spat out by the medic. As scared as he had been earlier when hoisted up into an element unfamiliar to him, having solid ground under his feet again brought back some of his courage, despite the threat of the weapon that was aimed squarely at him.

Snorting derisively, the black and purple Seeker let his laser cannon speak for him, a couple of well-aimed shots kicking up debris at Ratchet's feet. A gasp escaped the medic's throat as his lower extremities were sprayed with gray dust, and his fuel pump pounded viciously as he waited in dull shock for his pain receptors to kick in and tell him that at least one of those shots had torn through his armour. But nothing of the sort happened.

"Because then I will let you _live_, Autobot!" came the caustic reply, accompanied by a minute but expressive upwards jerk of the arm on which the now smoking weapon was mounted.

Ratchet fought back the no small amount of insults that were burning in his vocalizer, deciding it would be a wise move not to antagonize the violence-prone, brutish Decepticon any further.

The Seeker interpreted his silence as compliance and grabbed hold of Ratchet's arm, roughly turning him around and pushing him a few steps forward.

The medic stumbled at the ungentle ministrations but didn't offer any protests. That didn't mean that he was going to go along with whatever heinous plans the 'Con wanted him to take part in, though. He'd rather be off-lined than aiding the Decepticons in their war effort.

"Fix him," the Seeker suddenly ordered as he gestured towards something on the ground. "Fix him, and I'll let you go."

Ratchet stared at where the black hand was pointing, the lack of light forcing him to strain his optics before he was able to make out what the dark shape was. And the realization made his optic ridges shoot up towards his chevron.

It was another mech. A Seeker too, by the looks of it.

Now _that_ was unexpected. And for more reasons than one.

He briefly glanced at his kidnapper, half expecting to be offered some sort of explanation – who this other Seeker was, what he was doing here, how he had gotten his wounds – but was only met with another wave of the cannon.

Well then. He _was_ a medic, after all.

He crouched down beside the fallen Seeker, noticing the dried, flaking energon on the ground. There was no need to conduct any detailed examinations to see that the mech was badly damaged. One of his wings had a big chunk missing in the middle of it and the limbs had been torn out of their joints, the latter probably the result of an unplanned landing. Or a crash, as it was more commonly referred to.

But the worst was the damage to his side, the gaping hole that exposed the circuitry and wirings of the Seeker's inner anatomy, sealed off stumps of torn fuel lines sticking out from it. Somebody – the black and purple Seeker? – had obviously performed some sort of rudimentary first aid on him. Scanning the results critically, Ratchet almost frowned at how crudely it had been done. Clearly the work of a bumbling amateur with no medical skills whatsoever.

Although, to be fair, it probably had saved the life of his comrade.

Ratchet turned around to face the other mech, who towered above him impatiently. "He's badly damaged and I don't have all the equipment I need to perform the necessary surgery," he stated as a matter of fact, his clinical professionalism having already taken over. At the sight of the visibly darkening face, he quickly added, "I will do what I can, though. But he will need to see a real medbay after I'm finished."

"Whatever. Just make sure he'll be able to fly," the Decepticon ordered, a veiled menace behind the words to remind his captive what would happen should he fail to meet expectations.

Ratchet turned his attention back to his patient, silently praying he would be able to do what he was being asked. Or ordered, as it were. He always carried his most basic tools with him – he wouldn't have been much of a medic if he didn't – but they could only do so much. And he didn't have any spare parts either.

But as a good medic, he would be able to improvise. A small welder was part of any medic's standard equipment, and with that, he could solder the fuel lines back together. Some of the wires could be temporarily reattached as well with the other tools he had. As for that disturbingly gaping hole in the Seeker's torso, Ratchet didn't have any extra metal plates lying around, but he could remove some of the armour that covered the Seeker's legs and reattach it as a temporary cover for the wound. It would be a very inelegant solution, but it was better than leaving things in their current state. Exposed wires and circuitry were never a good idea, especially not in a delicate area like that.

He didn't know if the black and purple Seeker would keep his promise and let him go when he was done, though. Decepticons weren't known for honouring their promises, especially not those made to an enemy.

But being severely outgunned, he would have no choice but to comply. He could think of no other alternative route that offered him any chance to get out of this situation in one piece.

Reaching into his subspace pocket, he pulled out his trusty collection of tools and set to work.

* * *

Skywarp watched impassively as the Autobot slowly welded the ends of Thundercracker's severed fuel line back together, the occasional flame shooting out from deep within the mangled chassis.

He had always disliked seeing medical procedures performed, this being no exception. Perhaps it was because they reminded him of the fact that, powerful Decepticons as they might be, they were neither invulnerable nor immortal. Of course he knew that, but the thought of needing repairs like a simple, broken vehicle still disconcerted him.

After a while, the bluish glow from the welder died down, and the Autobot put the tool back onto the ground.

"Did you manage to weld it together? Is it functional again?" Skywarp blurted out, clueless as to whether the performed operation was technically complicated or simple standard procedure.

The white and red mech looked up and studied him for a while before answering.

"I did. Large fuel lines like that are fairly easy to repair." He cast a glance down at the open chassis wound before continuing. "Reattaching the severed cables and wires will be more difficult and take longer since they're thinner and more delicate."

"How long?" Skywarp asked, growing suspicious that the medic might be trying to stall for time so that his comrades would notice he was gone and come looking or him.

The medic shrugged. "Impossible to say. It depends on how clean the cuts are and how much rewiring needs to be done."

"Start with the most important wires for his flight and transformation systems," Skywarp ordered, clearly dissatisfied with the vague reply, but deciding not to push the matter any further.

The white and red 'Bot scowled slightly at him. "It's not that easy. Reattaching only some wires of a damaged system can cause it to short-circuit when a mech is brought back on-line. I need to do more or less full repairs on one system at a time; I can't just fix the main wires of each one." There was a tint of annoyance in his voice, the kind that could only have been caused by an amateur telling a professional how to do his work.

Skywarp had no reply to this. Perhaps it was true, or perhaps it was just some mumbo-jumbo that the Autobot tried to pass off as medical fact. Either way, he had no way of knowing.

The medic had gone back to his work, hands deep into his patient's chassis. A low-frequency hum could be heard from the tool he was using to reattach the torn wires.

Then: "So how did this damage come about? What did he get shot with?"

Skywarp's optics narrowed. "What's it to you, Autobot? Just get him fixed already!" He didn't like the question at all, and it was none of the medic's business. Probably he just wanted to gloat at the incompetence of an enemy who had gotten himself gunned down like this.

He was rewardedwith a stern glare, as if he had been a new recruit in need of a reprimand, before the medic answered. "Because being hit by a large, mounted laser weapon as opposed to a hand-held laser rifle is more dangerous. Such blasts are more potent, not only when it comes to ripping a mech's chassis apart, but if cables get hit there is a greater risk of the circuitry getting fritzed up. Simply put, if your friend was shot by one of Kalis' automatic defense systems, there could be complications I need to take into account when I repair the torn cables."

"Fine. He did get shot down by one of those things."

Ratchet nodded. "I suspected that much. But I wanted to make sure."

A few breems passed by, and then the red and white mech spoke again.

"So your friend got left behind, huh? And none of your comrades are coming for him?" The words were more statements than outright questions, spoken by someone who already knew the answer.

"Shut up."

The medic ignored the unfriendly advice. "Sometimes I don't understand what it is that makes you 'Cons willing stay in your faction when it doesn't even cover for you when you need it the most. Since you had to go as far as to enlist the services of your enemy, it's rather apparent that there is no help forthcoming from your own army. And just leaving someone behind like that to die…" The words trailed off as the medic shook his head in disbelief.

Skywarp snorted, his upper lip curling in disgust. Such typical, pointless Autobot soft-sparkedness. "Because we're not weak, pathetic creatures like you are. We follow the way of the strong, which means there will be inevitable losses on the way. Fawning over fallen comrades will only result in losing track of the way to victory. And every mech has to fend for himself; someone who must depend on his comrades isn't a worthy or useful addition to our faction anyway. That's how we foster strength, _Autobot_!"

Straight out of the books, almost to the letter. Megatron would have been proud of him, had his leader only been here to hear him.

"If that's so, then how come you stayed behind for your comrade's sake?"

The question took the Seeker aback, and his immediate reaction was to throw the medic an angry glare. Of course that wasn't the same thing! Even a mere Autobot should be able to see that.

Not that he could really express _why_ it was different, but surely that should be obvious? It's not like he, the mighty Skywarp, acted out of the same sentimental weaknesses as those Autobots did whenever they stubbornly refused to leave one of their own behind. It was preposterous of the medic to even hint at such a thing.

"He's a valuable part of our trine, and replacing him means having to go through the trouble of training a new flier for the position. Letting highly skilled soldiers go to waste like that will not benefit our cause. And seeing as how he's my bon... _wingmate_, the duty to bring him back, if possible, falls on me," Skywarp answered, irritated by the direct question.

The white and red 'Bot regarded him for a while, one optic ridge questioningly raised. "If you say so." He shrugged and returned to fully focus on his work.

_Stupid medic._ Skywarp felt a new wave of annoyance rolling over him, but it all dissolved into thin air at the other mech's next words.

"I've done as much as I can, given the conditions. I'm going to on-line your friend now." A white hand, shaking slightly, reached out towards the still dented, blue metal.

Not daring to breathe, Skywarp watched in a mixture of apprehensive horror and fascination as the Autobot executed the necessary maneuvers to – hopefully – bring his wingmate back to the world of the living. For a few agonizing astroseconds, nothing seemed to happen, and the sprawled body might as well have been a lifeless hunk of metal for all its inanimation. But then there was a small, almost imperceptible flicker in the gray, dead optics, as they slowly started to come to life.

It was followed by a muffled groan, a spastic shudder, a clenching and unclenching of a black hand, and a joyous shout.

"TC, you're _alive_!"

Skywarp's enthusiastic greeting was met with a pained mutter.

"Sheesh, don't scream like that, Skywarp. My head is already hurting enough as it is." There was some slurring in the voice, but the words were fully understandable.

Thundercracker brought up a shaky hand to his helmet and rubbed at a rather impressive dent on its left side. Then something seemed to hit him, and he stared in confusion at his wingmate, who had pushed past the medic to kneel in the rubble at his side.

"What happened? I remember being shot down, and then... " There was a pause as he searched his processor for the missing link between then and now, but he drew a blank and turned to his wingmate for clarification. "How did I get repaired? While Hook might not offer his patients the kindest of care, not even he would leave his patients to recuperate on a pile of jagged rubble, so I'm obviously not back at base."

Skywarp grinned at the other's pathetic attempt at a joke. Usually, Thundercracker's rare attempts at humour more often resulted in Skywarp rolling his optics towards the heavens than anything else, but seeing his wingmate brought back from the brink of permanent off-lining was enough for him to make an exception.

Explaining just how the repairs had come by might require a bit of tact, though. Having an Autobot saving one's aft was a source of mortal embarrassment as certain as any, but he would do his best to break the news to Thundercracker as gently as possible.

"I kidnapped an Autobot medic and made him repair you."

Then again, tact had never been his strong suite.

Skywarp didn't think he had ever seen a mech's optics widen to such a ridiculously huge size, as Thundercracker gaped at him in surprise and shock.

"_What_ did you just say?"

"You heard me. He's right here, just look to your left si..." Skywarp turned around to gesture at the Autobot, but there was no one there.

_Sneaky medic._ Apparently, he had taken the opportunity to slip away while Skywarp was busying himself with a newly on-lined Thundercracker.

Oh well, that wasn't important now. He might even have let the medic go in the end anyway. _Maybe_.

But the Autobot would make it back to his comrades sooner or later, and it would be a wise move to be out of here by then. There would be plenty of time to elaborate on the details later.

"We need to get going. You can fly, right?" the black and purple Seeker inquired hopefully.

There was a vague dimming of Thundercracker's red optics as he meticulously scanned his systems to appraise their level of functionality.

"I think so. There's still some not fully repaired damage, but it's relatively minor. As long as I don't have to fly at top speed or execute any advanced maneuvers, I should be able to make it back to base."

He made to stand up, but then froze mid-motion, a pained expression taking shape on his faceplates.

"So let me get this straight... You mean I actually owe my life to an... _Autobot_?"

The huge, impish grin on Skywarp's face stretched all the way to his audio receptors as he replied.

"No. You owe your life to _me_."

* * *

_**End note:**__ Sooo... just being curious here, how many of you guessed that the Autobot medic would turn out to be Ratchet? _

_Actually, I've had a scene like this pictured in my mind ever since I wrote "Captured" and put in a reference (which I'm sure nobody remembers, but anyway) in that story about how Ratchet had once, long ago, repaired an unnamed 'Con. I thought to do a small spin-off one-shot about that, but never got around to, and instead the idea turned out to fit quite neatly into this story instead. _


	11. Chapter 11

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Thanks to hydraling110 for her tireless betaing. _

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

Being in medbay was _boring_. There was absolutely nothing to do and nothing to look at, apart from the dull gray walls. Sometimes Thundercracker wondered whether this was deliberate to make sure that mechs didn't land themselves in here anymore than was absolutely necessary.

Having returned from Kalis, he had been ushered to see Hook as soon as his feet were on the ground again. Not that he had been protesting; flying back to base had been more exhausting than he had thought at first, as the remaining damage and dangerously low fuel reserves took their rightful toll.

Thundercracker grimaced a little as he thought back on the medical exams he had been subjected to. While Hook was quite a meticulous medic, he was not known for being gentle. All the prodding and rewiring and welding had been – when not outright painful – highly uncomfortable, to put it mildly.

It had been a lengthy process as well. Skywarp had been quick to inform Hook that his wingmate had been – the blue and white Seeker wanted to hide his face in shame when he thought about it – repaired by an Autobot, and that had resulted in a whole barrage of additional scans and examinations. Hook was convinced that the enemy medic had taken the opportunity to do a little bit of sneaky, hard-to-detect sabotaging while under the guise of repairing Thundercracker. Perhaps intentionally misconnecting some wires to make them short-circuit later on, or maybe removing a transistor that would make the entire system crash when under strain. Of course, that was what Hook himself would have done if ever forced to repair an Autobot.

But despite the scans, and the consequent re-scans, he had found nothing out of the ordinary. Granted, some of the repair had been rather shoddily executed and had to be redone, but that had more to do with the crude conditions under which the operations had been performed than anything else. It was only after long and grueling hours bent over the repair table that Hook finally admitted that he was unable to find any proof that Thundercracker's inner workings had been tampered with.

And now, Thundercracker was waiting for his automatic repair system to fix the rest.

Boring, indeed. So far, the only ones who had paid him a visit were Starscream and Skywarp. Though, Jazz would probably have come by as well if he hadn't been away on an infiltration mission.

The Air Commander hadn't wasted an astrosecond longer than necessary, though, and his only purpose had been to make sure that his wingmate was recuperating properly and that the trine would soon be fully manned again.

And Skywarp's smug, superior grin as he came to gloat at Thundercracker's bedside, giving his wingmate's healing injuries a few not-overly-gentle, inquisitive pokes, had made him itch to punch the purple flier square in the face. But instead, he had forced hismelf to mumble the grudging thanks that he knew he owed the other, shuddering at the self-satisfied look on Skywarp's faceplates. His wingmate was just about the last mech he wanted to owe his life to. He was relieved when the other finally sauntered away, an annoyingly bouncy swag in his steps. Most likely, he would never hear the end of this.

Apart from those interruptions, his convalescence had given him a lot of time to think. As he had been lying on the uncomfortable medbay berth, a lot of thoughts had wandered through his head, some only once, and others returning more often than he would have liked.

It made little sense to him that the Autobot medic hadn't tampered with his systems when given the opportunity. Or, rather, it _did_ make sense, although not when seen from a Decepticon perspective. But Autobot ethics were decisively different, that much was obvious.

And as much as he, as a proud Decepticon warrior, was supposed to loathe those Autobot ethics, he knew that he had them to thank for being alive at all.

Groaning, he slapped a hand over his face and rolled over to his side as if to distance himself from the disturbing thoughts, wincing as his abused wing got scraped in the process. And as much as he wished for recharge to claim him, he knew that his processor would be occupied with unwelcome thoughts for several joors yet.

* * *

The city never stood a chance. Not from the full-on assault of seven Seeker trines, four combiner teams and a veritable army of other Decepticons. It was nothing resembling a fair fight, but that didn't matter, as long as victory for the Decepticon faction was ascertained.

They had attacked swiftly and mercilessly, before any significant defenses could be mounted. Megatron had had his sight set on this city for quite some time due to its strategic location, but it wasn't until now, when no significant Autobot forces were stationed in the vicinity, that he had deemed the time right for a takeover.

The resistance had been feeble. Valiant and brave, but in the end feeble. Of the neutral city of Klaeth, there were now only smoking ruins left – that, and the dead bodies of its unfortunate inhabitants.

Thundercracker flew over the smoldering rubble of what had not long ago been a block of imposing buildings, thick gray smoke rising towards the sky. As he looked down at the destruction below, he wondered fleetingly what function they had served before his cluster bombs had hit them. Part of an outer wall still remained standing, large, circular holes gaping in regular rows in the now cracked structure. The window glass lay splintered in a thousand gleaming shards below, having quickly been shattered in the brutal assault.

Although it was impossible to tell from what little was still left, he knew that windows of circular shape were a typical signature of such institutes as museums and libraries. Perhaps the rubble below had once been the well-renowned Klaeth Library of Science and Technology.

His gaze lingered for a short moment. _Well, it couldn't be helped_, he tried to tell himself. There were sacrifices in all wars – they had all made them, and more than once at that.

And now, there was nothing more for him to do. The city was theirs, fully and wholly, anyone and anything that could have offered resistance obliterated. Among the rubble that seemed to stretch on forever, he finally spotted a group of his comrades and went in for a landing.

He could smell the high-grade already before he had taken ground, its pungent smell rising up in waves to tingle unpleasantly in his olfactory sensors. One of the Decepticons – Thundercracker recognized the tank-former but didn't know his name – looked up as the Seeker approached, a half-mad grin on his face.

"Hey, flyboy, wanna join us in celebrating?" There was a slur to the words that hinted that the mech had been overenergized for a while, probably having decided to claim their victory prematurely before the city had been taken. "We found some energon in one of the buildings – you can have some if you want!" he offered.

"No thanks," Thundercracker said, struggling but failing to keep his distance from the other mech who was now invading his personal space, an arm nonchalantly coming to rest on the Seeker's shoulder, like the two of them had been drinking buddies for vorns. "I was just going to ask if you know which direction Sector 3B is? My division was supposed to meet up there."

It was rather embarrassing, really, having to ask for directions like this. But he had taken a hit from a stray laser shot from one of the Klaeth defenders, and, while causing no serious damage, it had fritzed up his navigation system. Nothing that a medic couldn't fix, but still annoying.

"Sector 3B... 3B..." the tank-former muttered to himself, tapping a finger against his chin in contemplation. "Nope, no idea," he finally concluded, turning towards his comrades for assistance.

"Hey, do any of you slag-suckers know where Sector 3B is? Flyboy here seems to have gotten lost," he yelled at the group of mechs who were standing around in a rough approximation of a circle, their attention focused on something in the middle. A wall of backs and wings shielded what was going on from view, but judging by the hoots and rambunctious laughs that were arising from the participants, it was apparently something highly amusing.

It wasn't until the other 'Cons looked up and turned towards the tank-former, seemingly annoyed by the interruption, that Thundercracker got a good view of what they had been up to.

In the middle of the circle sprawled the battered, broken form of a mech – one of the surviving Neutrals. He was missing a leg and most of his left arm, fluids leaking at an alarming rate from the various wounds that covered the tattered remains of his body. The optics were so dimmed that it was impossible to tell what colour they normally were. The mech was still alive, but only barely. In a few kliks, his spark would be extinguished for good.

"No idea, Starcrusher," a red 'Con shouted back, and then turned his attention back to the unfortunate victim. Bending down, he grabbed the stump of the torn limb and started to twist it slowly, his ministrations culminating in a sickening crunch.

A pained whimper rose from the cracked lips of the Neutral, followed by a barely audible plea. "Please stop... don't..."

It was abruptly cut short as the hard underside of a foot stomped down on his vocalizer, effectively crushing it, rendering the mech speechless. His entire body convulsed spastically a few times, and then lay still.

"Smart move. I was getting sick of having to listen to his whining," one of the 'Cons snickered, aiming a kick at the broken chassis.

"Are you alright?" the tank-former suddenly asked Thundercracker. "You look a little wobbly. Did you get wounded in the battle or something?"

The Seeker swallowed the stale energon that was threatening to rise in his throat. "I'm fine," he muttered, looking away.

Not wanting to stay a moment longer, he transformed and took off, leaving the gruesome scene behind him, along with the mechs that had now started to squabble over who had first dibs on the Neutral's arm cannons.

Flying aimlessly around the city, fuel tank churning, Thundercracker finally came across some 'Cons who could point him in the right direction. Gratefully, he headed north, purposefully ignoring the devastation that spread out below him. It wasn't as if there were any landmarks left that could guide him anyway.

As the Seeker reached Sector 3B, the celebrations were already well under way. Mechs drunk on energon and victory were tossing all their limits aside, allowing their inner beasts free reign. Some had already passed out from the high-grade, and their bodies were sprawling where they had fallen in their drunken stupor.

Others, who had had a bit less, were bellowing forth Decepticon victory songs with their comrades, accompanied by roars and cheering from those who didn't know the lyrics. Some chose to make up their own, cramming in as much filth or violence in the texts as they could muster. A couple of mechs started to bicker over how the correct chorus went, and soon the two went down in an uncoordinated flailing of arms and legs, onlookers egging them on.

Where all the high-grade had come from, Thundercracker could only guess. Most likely, some mechs had been specifically sent out to plunder the city for it.

He passed a pair of Seekers who were quarrelling over an energon cube, even though there was plenty more where it had come from. At first he thought that one of them, who sported a purple paintjob, was none other than Skywarp – he was certainly dumb enough to engage in such pointless endeavors while intoxicated – but upon closer inspection it was clear that the Seeker belonged to another trine.

Just a few meters away, a couple of mechs were shamelessly interfacing, their grinding bodies only partly hidden by a collapsed wall. Normally, such lascivious behaviour would not have been tolerated, but seeing as how this had been an important strategic victory the present officers chose to ignore it.

Thundercracker curled his lips in disgust at the undignified display before continuing on. He was a little dismayed that he couldn't find Jazz among the assembled mechs, but maybe it didn't matter anyway. Unlike Thundercracker, the saboteur wasn't adverse to getting plastered on some good high-grade and most likely he was taking the opportunity to enjoy himself, if not already lying passed out somewhere.

"Hey, catch!"

The blue and white Seeker looked up in surprise as something came singling through the air towards him. Instinctively, he caught the thing before it impacted with his chassis.

It was a severed head. The fearful grimace of someone who had died a painful death was plastered over its faceplates, making the chopped off body part look like a grinning mask of death.

He dropped it in disgust, not caring about the howls of laughter that followed him as he walked off, fist clenched.

A couple of bombed-out blocks down, he ran into Skywarp, who was happily clutching an almost empty energon cube in his hands. The black and purple Seeker wobbled a little where he stood, but soon found his balance again. Astrotrain was sitting nearby on the foot of what had once been a statue; the crushed bits of the once proud monument spread out on the ground below. His optics were dimmed, and he looked like he was about to fall down from where he was perched any moment. On his left, Blitzwing was leaning against his shoulder, already passed out, the broken shards of an energon cube and a puddle of pink under his feet.

Skywarp looked to be in somewhat better shape than his two comrades. Probably he had, like Thundercracker, made it back here fairly recently.

"Aren't you gonna get yourself some high-grade, TC? I swear, these Klaeth Neutrals have some of the best stuff I've ever tasted. Much better than that sticky, half-coagulated substance they serve over at..."

"No, I'm not."

"Are you kidding? Free energon, as much as you want, and you're not having any? Did your processor fry up or something?" Skywarp asked incredulously, raising his cube a little as if to tempt his wingmate with its glowing contents.

"I don't feel like it, Skywarp," Thundercracker said, annoyed. Why was his wingmate always trying to butt his head into his business?

"You can't be serious! We've just had the greatest victory in ages, in case you haven't noticed, and you're telling me you're not gonna _celebrate_?" He clutched the cube tighter to his chest as if it was his most precious possession and Thundercracker had just told him to get rid of it.

"Celebrate _what_?" the blue and white Seeker snapped before thinking. "That we just slaughtered an entire city of mechs who couldn't defend themselves? That _this_ is what Decepticon conquest has been reduced to?"

He regretted the words before they were out of his mouth, but nevertheless found himself unable to stop them as they poured out as if by their own volition. Thankfully, the two Triplechangers were far too long gone to take any notice of much of anything that was going on around them.

Skywarp froze, mouth open.

For a long, agonizing moment, neither of them spoke. Wide, surprised optics met hard, angry ones.

The blue and white Seeker was the first to break the visual contact, turning on his heel and stomping off.

"Hey, Thundercracker..."

The unusual full address was ignored, and Skywarp was left staring after his wingmate, an uncomfortable feeling of dread in his stomach.

Thundercracker ought to be _careful_. Whatever his personal feelings on the matter were, he shouldn't be showing them like this. Or, one day, someone would undoubtedly report him. Perhaps it was a good thing that the mech wasn't much of a drinker, or Primus knew what else might otherwise come out of his overenergized mouth.

He threw a glance at his two comrades. Mercifully, they were both slouching against each other, drooling slightly, all but oblivious to the world around them.

* * *

He ran into Jazz at the outskirts of the sector while seeking sanctuary from the overbearing presence of his inebriated, obnoxious comrades.

While the natural topography of Klaeth was very flat, there was one spiky hill that rose over the city as if it had been a mech-built look-out point. Thundercracker had set his way there, figuring it would be a nice, isolated place where he could escape the drunken festivities going on below.

To his surprise, he was not the first. When he reached the summit, the saboteur was already sitting on the top of the hill, staring out over the shattered city in silence. For a moment, the Seeker contemplated whether he should just sneak away – for some reason he felt like he was intruding, although he didn't know on what – before Jazz sensed his presence, but he was too late.

"Thundercracker," the saboteur simply acknowledged as he looked up from where his gaze had lingered at the horizon.

The Seeker hesitated. He wasn't sure whether Jazz even wanted him there or not, but after having conferred with himself for a few moments, he sat down on the ground beside the other mech.

He was surprised that Jazz wasn't overenergized. In fact, the mech seemed as sober as him. Strange. He had expected the saboteur to be drinking with the rest of their comrades below.

Jazz remained silent as the Seeker sat down, his gaze turning back to the pathetic remains of the city skyline. Thundercracker followed his example, wondering if he should say anything or keep the silence. He wasn't used to seeing Jazz so solemn, so opposite of his usual, talkative self.

From below, voices were rising up, although increasingly sporadically as consciousness abandoned their owners. The words themselves were unintelligible, but their underlying meaning was clear enough. They spoke of self-grandeur and entitlement, born out of the delusions of mechs who were losing themselves in the tantalizing fantasy that they were immortal, untouchable, unstoppable. The universe, like the newly-sacked city they were defiling, was theirs to take. They rolled around in the glory of their victory, rubbed their bodies in it, wrapped it around themselves as one would an expensive cloak, letting it cover their own smallness and weaknesses in its irresistible magic. Whatever setbacks and slights had been suffered in life, they were now forgotten, having been whisked away by the intoxicating rush of power, like dust before a wide-open floodgate.

Thundercracker wished that he could have brought himself to feel the same, but he couldn't. For him, it was an empty, hollow victory, meaningless like a broken computer chip.

Conquest was one thing, but slaughter just for the sake of it another.

He instinctively halted his trail of thoughts. When had he started to think like this? Began to harbour these kinds of treacherous ideas? But as he tried to look back, everything seemed to be covered in a thick mist whose swirling curtains obscured the past, turning it into vague, unfamiliar shapes whose true forms could only be guessed.

He shook his head to get rid of the confusion, and focused on the skyline again. From up here, the devastation was less discernible, distance and darkness joining forces to hide it from view. The few light sources that still spattered the landscape below, some flickering hesitantly, did not serve to alleviate the pressing darkness. Outlined against the horizon, a few half-collapsed buildings remained standing, vainly stretching up towards the heavens like hands raised in silent prayer.

"You know, I actually lived in Klaeth for a few vorns."

It was said matter-of-factly, as were it a common, everyday statement like any other, but there was a strange ring to it that made the Seeker look up.

"I... see," he acknowledged, feeling dumb and sorely lacking. But he had no idea what else to say to the unexpected confession. No other words would come to him.

The undertone of Jazz's words was reverberating in his processor, like a discrepant, discordant frequency that cut like a knife through the otherwise perfect harmony. Words were just not uttered in _that_ way in the Decepticon army.

For a moment, he wondered. Perhaps Jazz was also...

_No._ Dangerous thoughts. It was better – _safer_ – not to go there at all. His recent slip in front of Skywarp had been bad enough.

Mercilessly crushing the rabid little animal-like thing that was clawing at his insides, he let it suffocate, feeling as if a small part of himself died with it.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Thanks to hydraling110 for being the ever-reliable beta. _

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

Thundercracker threw a quick glance across the room to see who else, apart from his own wingmates, was present in the debriefing room.

Soundwave. His cassettes. The Constructicons. Jazz. Astrotrain. Blitzwing. A few others.

Well, no doubt they were about to be informed about the specifics of some new mission or the other. Lately, they had increased in frequency, owing to the fact that energy was getting scarcer and scarcer; hence more desperate measures needed to be taken.

Although, Thundercracker had to admit, it didn't seem as if their efforts of stealing energy from the Autobots or scanning Cybertron for new, unknown sources were doing much good. Probably, most of them were using up more energy than they brought in.

But at least, Megatron had to give the impression that he was doing something to alleviate the situation, whether it was actually helpful or not. Facades needed to be upheld, especially so in the face of the dissatisfied mutterings as their dwindling energon rations were cut even further. Not to mention, the Second in Command's constant undermining of their leader's authority, at times subtle, at other times more blatant.

Their faction was hurting, and everyone knew it. And along with that, Megatron's leadership. Starscream's insistent challenges continued, despite the brutal repercussions that were dished out. No doubt, Megatron was getting desperate.

And so, the first words out of Megatron's mouth to his selected assembly were no great surprise.

"Decepticons, it seems like there might finally be a solution to the energy crisis."

There was only a small amount of dutiful cheering following this statement. They had all heard similar bragging from their leader just a few too many times before to be able to muster up much enthusiasm, glorious as the prospect itself might be.

Megatron, however, seemed to care little about the lackluster response. "Soundwave has brought us some interesting news." He made a dramatic pause and let his optics travel over his subordinates, acting as if he were taunting them with a desirable treat.

The only response was silence.

"It seems," the gray mech drawled, "that the Autobots are planning an expedition to search for energy sources outside of Cybertron. According to the intelligence report I have received, they're going to launch a space shuttle, captained by none other than Optimus Prime himself." The name of Megatron's arch nemesis was all but spit out, the gray face contorting into an ugly mask of pure hate and fury. A hand clenched into a fist, no doubt imagining that it was crushing the very spark of the detestable Autobot leader in its palm.

A few astroseconds later, the Deception leader reverted back to his usual self and continued as if nothing had happened. "The Autobots are a cowardly bunch who always play safely, who never dare to take risks to win glory. Therefore, they're hardly going to waste valuable energy on an energon-consuming expedition that might do nothing more worthwhile than aimlessly drift around in space. Most likely, they have information that we don't, and their sights are already set on some specific planet or the other. Of course," the Decepticon leader smirked, "their efforts will amount to nothing, as we will, after their having shown us the way to their intended goal, engage them in battle and take the resources for ourselves!"

"And what if the Autobots don't find any energy?" Starscream's voice immediately pierced through the air, ready and eager to point out even the slightest flaw in Megatron's plans. "I'd say that judging from the intelligence report, they're just sending out a shuttle at random in desperation. And probably, they will find nothing of value. We've already searched for planets with enough energy to merit an extraction party being sent over, and so far, we've come up with nothing. What makes you think that the Autobots would know any more than us?

Megatron regarded his Second in Command like one would look in disgust at stale coagulated energon held under one's nose. But despite his obvious irritation at the interruption, he remained calm.

"Even if they find nothing, we still win. Autobot spaceships are weak in firepower, as opposed to Decepticon ones. Should it turn out that their search is fruitless, we will simply obliterate them. Just like we will do if they do manage to lead us to an energy source." The corners of his lips twisted slightly. "And what's even more important is that Optimus Prime will be annihilated. With him dead, the Autobots will no longer pose much of a threat, and the war will be as good as won."

Nobody, not even Starscream, could argue with that. Or, to be fair, the dubious look on the Seeker's face suggested that he did have a few more select words to say about the whole deal, but decided to save them for later.

Megatron seemed content with the Seeker's compliance, and turned back to address the whole group again.

"The Nemesis is being prepared for take-off as we speak. You have all been chosen to partake in this mission, and I expect you to stand ready to leave in half a joor."

"And who will be leading this mission, mighty Megatron?" Starscream wondered before his leader had a chance to dismiss them, no doubt expecting his own name to be mentioned.

"I will, Starscream."

There were more than a few optic ridges raised at this. It was unusual that their leader personally participated in missions of this kind. The fact that he had chosen to do so this time spoke clearly of the chances of success he ascribed it.

The Second in Command snorted, but asked no further questions, and the team was dismissed.

Thundercracker had listened to the exchange with a feeling of growing apprehension. Somehow, he just didn't like the sound of this mission. It seemed risky, and he had to admit that for once, he actually agreed with Starscream. They had already searched for energy-rich planets several times before and found none, so why should the Autobots have any better luck?

Not to mention the little nagging voice that told him that squabbling over energy sources would do nothing to help solve the energon crisis they were all suffering from, Decepticons and Autobots alike. He quenched the rebellious thought and sighed.

_In any case, only an idiot would consider this a worthwhile idea. _

"Wow, TC, isn't that awesome?" Skywarp cheerfully asked, optics shining. "Now maybe these strict energon rations will be lifted and a mech can finally refuel properly. Seriously, I'm gonna drink until I've got energon leaking out of my air vents!"

Thundercracker threw his wingmate a look of distaste. _So gullible_. No, nothing good was going to come out of following the Autobots' trail into space. He just knew it.

"Yeah, great," he replied, not even bothering to try to sound enthusiastic.

* * *

"Distance to Autobot ship: Eleven decamiles," Soundwave intoned flatly, the first words that had been spoken aboard the ship in what seemed like joors.

"Excellent. Increase the speed," came the order from the gray mech who had been pacing impatiently around the Nemesis control room, arms crossed over his chassis.

"As you command, Megatron."

Thundercracker felt an uncomfortable jolt in his stomach as the ship accelerated. There was a good reason why he strongly preferred to fly using his own two wings as opposed to confined in a space shuttle. Not to mention that it was incredibly dull as well.

Several breems passed by in a silence broken only by some light-hearted bantering from some of the crew and the monotonous beeps from the large, hulking monitor taking up a good chunk of the control panel.

The blue and white Seeker stifled a yawn.

Then:

"Asteroid swarm: Incoming."

"What?" Megatron quickly jumped out of the chair he had just sat down in, closing the distance to the monitor with a few impressive strides. He glared at the blue-ish screen, a scowl on his face. For all its firepower, the Nemesis was ill equipped to handle threats like this. Its few but powerful cannons had been designed to take out large enemy spaceships with relentless, concentrated laser fire, not dealing with a dispersed swarm of space debris.

A deafening boom suddenly shook the ship, making several of the 'Cons fall onto the floor and a ringing alarm go off.

"Soundwave! Steer into the path of the Autobot ship. They have managed to clear a path through the debris!" Megatron's order cut through the half-panicked state of the Nemesis like laser through metal. He stood hunched, staring at the monitor in transfixion, hands gripping the edge of the control board.

The ship veered sharply, tilting so much that a few of the mechs that still hadn't managed to get onto their feet slid across the floor and bumped into the wall. A couple of shouts of pain and surprise followed the dull thuds of metal crashing into metal.

"Watch it, you clumsy sky-fragger!" Rumble yelled angrily, trying to shove off the much larger form of Skywarp that he found himself pinned under.

Skywarp laboriously got up, a hand clutching his head. "Watch it yourself, you tiny little runt. I really don't appreciate getting you shoved into my tailpipes," he said with a sneer as he pushed the little cassetticon away from him.

"Silence!" came the clipped order from the Decepticon leader, who was still standing bowed over the monitor. Clearly, he was not in the mood for quarrelling subordinates.

Skywarp cut his half-spoken sentence short, and the smaller mech took the opportunity to make an ugly face at the black and purple flier, who looked like he was about to go for the other's throat. After a silent, but threatening, look from Soundwave, though, the Seeker wisely stood down and instead settled for fuming in the nearest empty chair.

As Megatron looked up from the screen, there was an ugly scowl on his faceplates.

"The Autobots have entered evasive flight mode. They have discovered us." He briefly lifted his gaze to silently stare out the front window panel, his fists clenching. "We must attack now, or risk loosing them."

It was true. While the Nemesis was a ship well suited for battle, its heavy armoury also put a limit on how quickly it could travel. The Autobot ship was lighter and could attain greater speeds, which meant it would have little problem outrunning the Nemesis.

"Your orders, Megatron?" Soundwave stated, impassively as ever, as had he asked about nothing more than the weather.

The leader paused for a while, and then he seemed to come to a decision, nodding to himself.

"Activate the dual tractor beams." The words were spoken with the certainty of someone knowing that there would be no return. The dice had already been cast.

A few buttons pushed and a lever pulled. A hum as strong magnetic fields were activated. And a violent jerk as the two ships connected to each other.

Stroking the fusion cannon on his arm in a mockery of loving devotion, Megaton smiled as he issued his next order.

"Decepticons – stand prepared for boarding."

* * *

Thundercracker threw a punch at the masked Autobot in front of him, after having dodged a clumsy swing aimed for his own head. The Autobot went down with a grunt, clutching his cracked mouthplate.

Then somebody – he didn't know if it was a 'Bot or a 'Con – slammed into his back, sending him face first into the ground.

"Umph!"

_Primus dammit_.

The Seeker pulled himself up, muttering a colourful variety of curses under his breath.

The sound of battle and the bodies that were scuffling all over were confusing, and Thundercracker's head was spinning alarmingly from being slammed into the floor. He wobbled unsteadily for a few astroseconds.

Around him, the fight was full on, Autobots and Decepticons enthusiastically engaging each other, mostly in hand-to-hand combat. Few of the fighters dared to use their rifles or cannons, fearing that the laser fire might damage the hull of the spaceship. To his left, Soundwave was taking on three Autobots at once, sporting an impressive agility for such a bulky mech. No wonder he had made it to Third in Command.

Near the control board, the two faction leaders were engaged grappling with each other, Megatron occasionally gaining the upper hand, only to be thwarted at the last second by his red and blue adversary. And so the two continued on in an endless cycle, oblivious to all else. There was a strange kind of heat in the Deception leader's optics, one that Thundercracker had only seen them sport when in the presence of Prime himself.

And now, Megatron's optics were glowing like red beacons, hate, madness and obsession swirling in them like a dangerous mixture of explosives just waiting to go off at the right moment. Nothing existed to him anymore outside of this fight, this opportunity to close his hands around his enemy's throat, this chance to rip Prime's spark casing out of his chest and destroy it once and for all.

A feral growl rose from the throat of the gray mech. Whether it was born out of frustration over the dynamic stalemate, a vocal expression of pure hatred, or something else, Thundercracker didn't know. But he did know that it would be unwise to interfere. Megatron wanted Prime for himself; he wanted the satisfaction that came with knowing that he had defeated the loathed Autobot leader with his own bare hands.

Sometimes, it felt as if the Decepticon cause had been reduced to a personal vendetta.

Thundercracker tore his gaze away from the struggling mechs. This wasn't the time to think about such things. Or to think at all.

"Hey, Autobot scum, take this!"

A volley of laser fire erupted not far from where the Seeker was standing, and he instinctively jumped back to avoid getting turned into scrap.

"Would you look before you fire, Starscream," he yelled angrily at his wingmate. "Not everyone in here is an Autobot!"

"That wasn't even close to hitting your worthless chassis! How about you make yourself useful instead of standing around gawking like a Saturnian simpleton?" the Second in Command shot back, null rays smoking.

Thundercracker bit back an angry retort, and turned back to the fight raging around him. He just barely avoided being put down by a large, red 'Bot with a steel rod tightly gripped in his hands, swinging his makeshift weapon around with ease. 'Cons were jumping out of the way all around him, many of them doubtlessly saved from having their skulls smashed in by their flight capability and quickly ignited thrusters.

Thundercracker watched as the red 'Bot, frustrated by his lack of success, looked around for an easier target, finally going for one who had his back turned.

_True, it _would_ have been amusing, but... oh, well_.

"Skywarp, behind you!"

The black and purple Seeker turned at the shouted warning, barely in time to avoid the rod that was aimed for his head. He jumped away with a shrill _eep_, shouting abuse at his Autobot attacker who only curled his lip in obvious disappointment at a missed opportunity to take a hated 'Con down.

Suddenly, there was a violent shake as the whole spaceship seemed to be twisting out of its trajectory as if tugged by a strong but invisible hand.

"We're being pulled in by a gravity force!" someone shouted over the ruckus. Thundercracker had no idea whether the voice belonged to an Autobot or a Decepticon; he was busy trying to cling on for dear life as the ship was hurled into a forceful acceleration.

"Primus, we're going to crash!" someone else shouted, panic wrapping itself around the words.

The whole spaceship seemed to explode in screams and shouts, mechs impotently rushing all over the control room. The last thing Thundercracker remembered was a deafening crash, and then everything went black.

* * *

_**End note:**__ Can't remember what episode it's originally from, but I always loved the phrase "Saturnian simpleton" and knew that somewhere, someday, I just had to use it in a fic of mine... _


	13. Chapter 13

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Thanks to hydraling110 for being awesome and betaing this. _

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

"Check this out!"

Skywarp dove into a plunge, shooting out of the sky like a lethal projectile aimed at the road below. Mere astroseconds before he was to crash into the concrete, he pulled up again, avoiding a brutal death or at least serious injury.

At the sight of the jet coming spiraling seemingly out of control, there were ugly, screeching sounds of tires scraping against concrete as several of the vehicles on the road swerved sharply, while others braked in shock. Some of them ended up by the wayside, and others slammed into neighbouring vehicles. Traffic came to a halt as dented vehicles cut off the road.

Skywarp howled with laughter.

"Haha, did you see that? These squishies, really, they're too funny!"

The blue jet felt a twinge of annoyance at the sight of the humans as they milled around on the ground below, many no doubt in shock, with the little scene accompanied by Skywarp's dumb snorts of amusement.

"Knock it off, Skywarp," he shot at his black and purple wingmate. He had been in a foul mood ever since he woke up this morning, primarily due to the fact that his bond with Starscream was starting to make its demands known rather insistently. Once they got back to base, he would have little choice other than going to the trine leader to put forth a request that they bond.

And he _really_ disliked having to ask that from the arrogant Second in Command.

His other wingmate's antics didn't serve to put him in a better mood, quite the opposite. As un-Decepticon-ish as he knew the notion was, seeing his comrades gleefully harass the defenseless organics that dominated this planet made him uncomfortable. He could understand their contempt for the little creatures – they _were_, after all, weak and all-around pitiful – but perhaps it was because of that very patheticness that he felt the way he did. Fighting Autobots was one thing, but attacking creatures who posed no threat and were so utterly unable to defend themselves didn't sit well with him. It was _unworthy_. As long as they didn't exhibit any hostile behaviour, Thundercracker was happy to leave the little organics alone to live out their short, insignificant lives. He just wished his comrades would do the same.

Skywarp swerved back to position himself alongside the other jet, his voice grating on Thundercracker's audio receptors.

"What's wrong with having a little bit of fun? Do you always have to be such a boring slag-sucker?"

"Leave the humans alone," Thundercracker replied acidly, ignoring the insult. Perhaps it would be enough to make Skywarp leave things at that. He _really_ didn't feel like dealing with his wingmate's immature behaviour today.

Skywarp snorted, clearly not willing to let the issue rest just yet. "Why do you care so much about what happens to the squishies? Sheesh, as if this planet isn't positively _teeming_ with them anyway!"

Thundercracker didn't reply, hoping his silence would make the other drop the issue.

No such luck.

"They're _squishies_, for Primus' sake, TC! Pathetic organics! Why should it matter to you what happens to them? It's not like..."

"_I said_, leave the humans alone," Thundercracker all but growled, a hint of steely warning in his voice. In the grouchy mood he was currently in, there were few things that appealed less to him than being antagonized by his annoying wingmate. Especially over an issue like this.

He could almost feel the air shift as the other jet tensed. If there was one thing Skywarp didn't like, it was being ordered around by his comrades.

With that in mind, perhaps he should have seen it coming.

Without warning, Skywarp sharply broke off from their flight trajectory and headed for the busy intersection below.

"Oh yeah? Like you could ever stop me!" came the angry challenge, spat out as the purple jet dove for the human vehicles.

Whether it was his frustration over the bond and its insistent demands, his general annoyance with Skywarp's never-ending immaturity, or the realization that his wingmate was deliberately doing this to get a rise out of him, he didn't know. Perhaps they all played their part when he steered away from his own flight path and speeded after the purple jet, cold anger rising inside of him.

The little humans were already hurriedly running away from what they thought was their impending doom coming down at them from the skies above. But Thundercracker was faster than his obnoxious trinemate, and had soon covered the distance between them. The slight, but noticeable, shift in the purple jet spoke of his surprise at seeing the other Seeker unexpectedly sliding up next to him.

The surprise turned into a shriek of pain and anger as the blue jet suddenly slammed into his side with full force, knocking Skywarp out of his trajectory and sending him spinning towards the ground. Regaining control before slamming into the grassy field below, he landed rather ungracefully and wobbled for a moment on unstable feet before regaining his composure. Thundercracker landed nearby, steeling himself for what was coming.

For several long moments, the purple Seeker only stood and stared at him with a look of disbelief plastered on his face, mouth open, apparently unable to comprehend that his wingmate had just attacked him. And the fact that it was over such an insignificant thing as this planet's dominant species probably didn't help either.

Not that violence was an uncommon occurrence between members of a Seeker trine, whether it was about asserting dominance, establishing hierarchies, or simply letting off steam, but Thundercracker was normally not a mech to get physical with his trinemates. No wonder the other was gaping dumbly like a fish pulled out of the water.

"What the frag are you _doing_, TC!" the black and purple Seeker finally yelled in shock and confusion, having found his voice again. It trembled slightly.

"I told you to leave the humans alone. Maybe next time you'll actually listen," Thundercracker said simply, meeting with Skywarp's optics, refusing to back down.

"And just what difference do some Primus-damned _humans_ make?" Skywarp cried, throwing his hands out. "We're _Decepticons_. Exactly where in our cause does it say that we should worry about inferior species?" He threw an accusing stare. "But still, you care more for them than for..."

"You're right," Thundercracker interrupted him coolly. "We're Decepticons. Which means we should focus on our cause rather than pestering some pitiful organics for our own amusement."

Skywarp clenched his fists but, for once, said nothing.

As far as Thundercracker was concerned, the matter was over and done with. Right now, he had more pressing issues he needed to take care of. "I'm going back to base. I don't care what you do as long as you keep from pulling any more stupid stunts on those humans."

He ignored the wounded look on his trinemate's face and the red optics boring into him. Instead, he transformed and took off for base, being vaguely aware that Skywarp did the same.

* * *

Slowly, the two Seekers walked into the rec room, Thundercracker leading the way and his wingmate trailing a few steps behind, neither of them having spoken a word to the other on their way back. Skywarp just nonchalantly threw himself down on one of the couches in the room, a sour look on his face. A few of the other mechs in the room looked up, but soon lost interest. Skywarp was known for his rather emotionally volatile behaviour, and seeing him grumpy over a real or imagined slight was nothing out of the ordinary. He would have forgotten about it in a couple of joors anyway.

Thundercracker paid no attention to his wingmate. He had other things weighing on his mind as he walked through the rec room, taking his usual shortcut to Starscream's quarters.

He didn't even have to think about where he was going, his legs carrying him forward as if by their own volition, like he were some inanimate object being listlessly transported to his chosen destination.

And soon, he stood outside the all-too familiar door, his hand automatically lifting to knock at the gray metal.

"Come in."

The blue Seeker obeyed, gingerly stepping inside the officer's dimly lit quarters.

"Thundercracker," the other acknowledged, his cold optics not betraying even a hint of emotion. "How can I help you?" An ever so faint, and yet very perceptible hint of mockery in the steely voice.

Thundercracker had no doubts that Starscream knew very well what he wanted. He always seemed to know.

"You wish to bond, don't you?" the Second in Command continued, not bothering to wait for the other's answer, as if even those few astroseconds would have been too much time to waste.

Thundercracker only nodded, feeling a wave of self-loathing well up deep inside him. He tried to quell it, but it refused to let itself be culled, and instead washed violently over his spark.

"Then we might as well get started, shouldn't we?" The red and white Seeker stood up and headed towards the berth without further ado, as if he had been asked for something so simple as to fetch a data pad.

Thundercracker meekly followed, not speaking a word.

That was one thing about Starscream – he never refused these sessions, never tried to shy away from them, regardless of how much contempt he seemed to hold for them. No matter what or where, he always acquiesced to Thundercracker's demands for a bonding without protesting.

The blue Seeker sat down on the edge of the berth, waiting. Though nothing had ever been said out loud, it was an implicit agreement that the one to initiate this, the one who was allowed first touch, was Starscream. Always Starscream. Perhaps it was the Second in Command's way of showing, no matter how imperceptibly, that he was the one in control and the ranking officer. It was only his graciousness that allowed this to happen at all.

"Well then."

A hand came to rest on Thundercracker's arm, and then it slowly traced its way upwards towards his shoulder vent. His bond delighted in the touch, light and innocent as it may be, and rejoiced in the silent promises of what was to come.

Fingers raked inside of his vent. Clawed, caressed and scraped. Thundercracker hissed and slid his arms around his superior officer's waist. He was about to pull the Seeker closer towards his own heated frame, but managed to stop himself in time. Instead, he inched himself closer towards the alluring red metal, glad he hadn't let his instinctive reactions get the better of him. Starscream didn't like being handled around like that. Another silent agreement that Thundercracker had quickly learnt to follow.

He – no, his bond – relished in the closeness as the two cockpits rubbed against each other, friction heating them up. The action was mechanical, lacking in any sort of sensuousness or intimacy, but it didn't matter. Perhaps it was actually even better that way.

As a sharp electrical tingle shot through him, he gasped and reached – grabbed – for the other, aching for the closeness of that wonderful metal against his own chassis. Keening slightly, he grinded against the red torso, hands greedily reaching into enticingly gaping seams to massage the cables underneath.

Starscream barely reacted, and his own hands continued their impassionate, although skillful stimulation of Thundercracker's circuitry.

It was so different from his bondings with Skywarp, so different from his black and purple trinemate's open lust and eagerness. He didn't know what was worse – Skywarp's disturbing, inappropriate neediness or Starscream's cold indifference, making himself appear just as needy as Skywarp in comparison.

As the talented fingers moved across his frame and rubbed at high-strung bundles of cables, Thundercracker couldn't help but wonder if Starscream had ever interfaced with somebody outside of his trine. He seemed to know exactly where to touch for greatest effect and quickest stimulation. Perhaps never interfacing with other models had made him so fine-tuned to the Seeker frame that it allowed him to manipulate his wingmates' bodies and circuitry with such amazing skill. Skywarp, in comparison, was clumsier, less effective, which resulted in the process always being dragged out a lot longer.

Hands and fingers continued to move in a silence broken only by Thundercracker's gasps and moans. The sounds tore at his audio receptors, but he was unable to stop them from pouring forth, much as he hated them. The raging, greedy creature that was his bond had already taken over, relegating the Seeker to a mere tool, a mere actor in a play, in order to get what it wanted. It had locked his unwillingness and reluctance into a small, impenetrable box, and was now mockingly shaking the key over his head where he was unable to reach it.

Like always, he had no choice but to let himself be carried along by the waves of desire and frenzied want, no matter how much he wished he could refuse. The bond was now his master, and he could do no more than obediently heed its self-serving beck and call.

_Primus, how he hated it_.

Cables aching with pent-up desire, circuitry tingling with electrical jolts, wires shuddering with unwanted pleasure, his spark casing retracted. The blue glow seemed almost perverse, like the depraved lusts of a deviant suddenly brought into light. But it didn't matter. As long as he got to touch that other spark that was beckoning for his, less than a hand's breadth away, nothing else mattered.

As Starscream brought their chests together, Thundercracker's entire world jolted and spun. The blue glow pulled him in as if he were being manipulated by an invisible string.

He already knew that his spark would be unable to penetrate that other shining orb in front of him, but it was alright. The closeness of that warm, enticing presence was enough. His essence basked in its wonderful glow, drank in its shining splendor, marvelled before its haughty beauty.

He had no concept of how long the experience lasted – perhaps it was only a few astroseconds, perhaps an eternity. But too soon, he felt the inevitable tug that dragged him away from his state of bliss, and back to the berth where he and Starscream were splayed.

Panting, he let the air cycle a few extra times through his vents, trying to force his body back to normal. The bond was satisfied, its previous pocking and demanding now gone, only to be replaced by a dreary, hollow emptiness that spread into his entire being.

* * *

He took the shortcut back to his quarters, through the rec room. It was empty, late in the evening as it was.

Well, almost empty. There was still one mech sitting where Thundercracker had left him when he walked off to Starscream's quarters.

The black and purple form didn't move, with the exception for his optics, which followed Thundercracker as he walked across the room. Of course, Skywarp knew exactly where his wingmate had been. He always seemed to know.

There was an unreadable expression on the black and purple flier's face, which was partly hidden in shadows. As much as Thundercracker pretended not to notice the other as he walked past, he was glad when he was finally out of the room and away from the piercing gaze boring into his frame.

* * *

_**End note:**__ In case anyone is interested, the story "Captured" – one of the prequels to this story – is currently undergoing major revision and will be more or less rewritten. As of now, seven chapters have been replaced, and the last two shall be added shortly. If you ever read the old version, I'd be interested in hearing your opinions on the new and hopefully improved version.  
_


	14. Chapter 14

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Thanks to hydraling110 for, as always, doing a great job betaing. _

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

Thrusters flaring, the blue Seeker dove for cover behind the half-crumbled remains of a human building, narrowly avoiding the laser blast that had his name written on it. The acrid smell of smoke and burning organic material was strong on his olfactory sensors, but he paid it little heed.

Once more, a human city had turned into the background setting for their latest run-in fight with the Autobots, and once more, the Decepticons found themselves being driven back. It was only a question of time before Megatron would call a retreat.

The fight was lost, that much was obvious, but their leader could not afford to give in so easily, could not afford the risk of his soldiers thinking him weak and cowardly. So instead, they pressed on, pushing one step forward for every two steps they were driven back.

Thundercracker's breath was shallow and quick; he'd just gotten out of a tussle with the obnoxious red and yellow Autobot twins. They were ferocious fighters to be sure. One of his wings was now drooping sadly, and, limited as his medical skills were, he knew he was going to need at least one of his air vents replaced. He was too tired to fight any longer, and now he only waited for his leader's order to retreat.

It would come, sooner or later. It always did.

The debris crunched sinisterly under his feet as he changed positions, trying to accommodate his damaged wing as he leaned against the wall for support. He looked down in disturbed dismay. Human cities always gave rise to so many... broken things whenever they fought in them. Not to mention all the fires. Things rarely burned on Cybertron, not even during full-scale enemy assaults. Their home planet had, when it all came down to it, little natural material that could catch on fire.

But here, everything seemed like it either burned or broke. Of course, humans were weak, so it stood to reason that whatever they built would be weak, too.

"Pathetic cowards! Filthy Autobot _scum_!"

Starscream. His raging voice carried over the noise of the on-going, though receding, battle. Still fighting, although the outcome was already decided. Thundercracker wondered if it was pure obstinacy that motivated the Seeker, or if it was a calculated, subtle strategy in his never-ending struggle to gain hold of Megatron's position – to uphold and strengthen the image of himself as a fearless, never-yielding fighter in the eyes of his comrades. To appear the better choice for the faction leadership, should it one day come to that.

His optics glided over the wanton destruction. Though most humans had long since fled, there was still the occasional little organic that ran or scuttled past, making a bid for safety. Yet others had sought cover among the rubble and caved-in buildings, be it in the feeble hope it would provide adequate protection, or out of a stubborn refusal to leave their shelter for fear of what was waiting outside.

He wondered how many of those little creatures lay crushed under the debris. Quickly, he pushed the thought away.

His gaze fell on the hulking forms that had taken refuge not far away from him. Two of the Constructicons. He had no idea where the rest of their team was. Most likely, at least one of them was severely injured, or else they would have merged into Devastator long ago. As of now, it seemed like they were only waiting for the same inevitable thing as Thundercracker.

Then he heard it. Just a couple of blocks away, the fearful cries of a human pierced the air. Like a sharp laser blade, it tore through the evening sky and the Seeker's processor.

He wheeled around, unable to stop himself. In a window on the ninth floor of a half-collapsed building, stood a little organic. Its arms flailed wildly, as if it was purposefully seeking to draw attention to itself, so totally unlike the humans still huddling under the debris, trying to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible.

Soon, it became clear to him why – the building was on fire. And so, the panicking creature had resorted to the last available option, even though it had to know that no help would be forthcoming, its comrades being all either dead, injured, hiding or fleeing. Still, in its last dying minutes, it desperately clung to this final, futile attempt to save itself, no matter how hopeless, refusing to give up.

He continued to stare, unable to look away.

The human was so close. He could easily fly the short distance and grab it from out the window, saving it from a certain, agonizing death – a death that had been brought by him and his comrades. It would be so easy, an action that would take him but a few short astroseconds.

But he was not alone. Scavenger and Scrapper were huddling not far away from him. They would see him, should he try to do what was currently going through his processor.

The human screamed. And screamed. Its piercing cries echoed in Thundercracker's audio receptors. How such a small thing could attain such decibel levels was a mystery. He tried to block it out, but couldn't.

Saving it would have been so easy. But his comrades and – worse – Megatron would find out, and their leader would never tolerate such softness from any of his soldiers. Not that the Decepticon warlord cared whether some puny Earth organic lived or died, but anyone lifting even a finger to help one of them would undoubtedly be labelled an untrustworthy weakling. Or worse.

Thick black smoke was now belching out of the window in which the human was standing. It coughed and retched, and then its pathetic cries intensified into high-strung chords that felt as if they were wrapping themselves around Thundercracker's throat, slowly choking him.

His wings twitched, as if preparing for a takeoff. But he knew he couldn't do it. Not while the two Constructicons were watching him. It wasn't worth the sacrifice or what he would be subjected to once word got around to Megatron about his sympathizing with a human's plight.

No, he couldn't help it. It wasn't his fault.

It was just a human. Just a squishie.

_Just a squishie._

Suddenly, there was a roar of powerful engines from above.

Thundercracker stared as a white and red jet swooped down from the sky and transformed in midair. He stared as a hand reached out and pulled the choking human into safety. He stared as the rescuer transformed back into vehicle mode and took off with the human safely tucked inside his cockpit.

He continued to stare even after the Valkyrie had disappeared from view, not hearing the insults that Scavenger and Scrapper were hurling at him for being too slow to fire at the giant Autobot.

_So easy. _

_Everything would have been so easy... being an Autobot. _

He had no time to think any further before the long-awaited order echoed over the smoking battlefield.

"_RETREAT!_"

* * *

Flying back to base was a quiet undertaking. There was no bragging or jeering as there would be whenever they withdrew in triumphant victory. Instead, there was a sullen, stubborn silence hanging over the Decepticons, ironically enough only made even more noticeable by the sound of their roaring jet engines.

It suited Thundercracker perfectly. He was in no mood for any conversations or interaction of any sort with his comrades.

The picture of the human in the burning building seemed to have etched itself into his processor, and the image of the Autobot swooping down from the sky to save it was replaying itself over and over again, in an endless, unstoppable loop.

Yes, it had been so easy for him, saving the little organic. None of his comrades would ask him uncomfortable questions, doubt his loyalties, or turn him into a target for mockery and ridicule for his actions. What an amazing freedom to have. He envied the Autobot, not having to compromise between his own ideals and that of his faction.

He wondered briefly what it would be like, not having to force his own moral qualms into the darkest, deepest pits of his processor, where their protests could no longer be heard, in order to fulfill his leader's and comrades' expectations. But such a thing would remain but a pitiful fantasy, as long as he was a Decepticon. On the other hand, it wouldn't have been impossible if...

Triumphantly, the lurking thought that had been waiting to one day be set free from its bonds and let out into the light suddenly took its final, treacherous shape in his processor – _if he had been an Autobot. _Thundercracker's first reaction was to forcefully try to shove it back to where it had come from, as if even thinking such a thing would be enough to brand him with a stamp saying 'traitor' on his forehead, but the idea refused to let itself be tethered, having now tasted freedom.

Instinctively, he scanned his comrades flanking him, overtaken by an irrational fear that they might somehow have read his mind and were now powering up their weapons to deal with the horrible traitor, the despicable renegade in their midst. But no. There was nobody paying him any attention, nobody having noticed anything out of the ordinary. Not even the imposing, chilling form of his leader bringing up the front seemed to be aware of anything other than their recent, humiliating defeat.

He knew he was being overly paranoid, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief that he was still in jet-mode, as if the unspeakable thoughts would otherwise have been fully readable on his faceplates.

A cold shiver passed over his frame. He should quench these preposterous ideas, pretend they had never surfaced and refuse to ever acknowledge them again.

Then again – if there was one freedom he did still have, it was the freedom to think freely. While words and actions had to be considered carefully to avoid suspicion, penalties or worse, that was one thing that nobody could take away from him, not even Megatron.

He still had the freedom that the synapses and circuits in his processor offered him. Nobody could touch that. It was his, and he was free to do with it whatever he liked.

As in obstinate defiance, like a human child purposefully doing something expressively forbidden only because she knew she could and nobody would ever be the wiser, he tried to conjure an inner picture of himself with the red Autobot insignias adorning his wings.

Somehow, the image wouldn't quite come to him.

He relented. Perhaps that was too much, even for his treacherous mind. But the illicit fantasy of defecting wouldn't go away, and it kept dancing around, shamelessly flaunting itself before his inner optics. And it painted a glorious picture indeed of the prospect of leaving everything behind – his disillusionment with a cause that had once appeared so glorious, but whose shiny luster had now faded into a sickly hue, barely even flickering anymore; the constant infighting and bickering and vying for position among his comrades; the nagging, persistent doubts that would never fully go away; his sometimes positively debilitating fear of their ruthless faction leader.

The pictures were tempting and appalling at the same time, like reeking, poisoned energon offered to a starving mech. It went against everything he had been taught to believe in, everything that his life and existence had been built upon. And yet, its attractive allure was drawing him in like a moth towards a flame.

Defecting to the Autobots. Becoming one of... _them_.

But he knew he couldn't do it. No matter how righteous or justified the Autobot cause would dangle ever-so-tauntingly before his face, he simply couldn't leave his current faction.

And the reason for that was right in front of his very optics, not bothering to remain in formation now that the fight was over and their enemies left far behind on the ground to pick up the pieces of the ravaged battleground they had fought on.

His two wingmates. Red and white jet, oozing conceitedness and arrogance. His black and purple counterpart, radiating obstinacy and a pitiful lack of interest for anything more substantial than whatever jollies and short-lived pleasures lay around the next corner waiting for him.

Starscream and Skywarp. His wingmates, trinemates and bondmates. And right now, also his worst enemies.

Because he knew that they were the ones forever tying him to the cause he had once chosen to follow, but was now – no, had long been – doubting. Not even his fear of Megatron or the repercussions that would be dealt to a traitor could ever come close to chaining him like this, like a slavering dog on a leash whose collar only constricted tighter the harder he struggled.

The bonds to his two trinemates were what kept him tethered, as surely as had they been bolted down steel chains encircling his limbs. He knew there was no way he could ever leave while those parasitic monstrosities still raged and raved inside of him. Demanding. Craving. Needing.

No, he would never, could never, win against them. It would be a futile struggle, one he was destined to lose from the very beginning. If it didn't kill him, it would probably make him go crazy eventually, denying his bonds the comfort of his bondmates' sparks that they so lustfully, so lewdly craved. Going up face to face with the entire Autobot army and defeating them single-handedly and weaponless would have been an easier task.

He had made his choice once. And now, there was no going back. The doors around him were all closed, the keys to open them thrown away long ago, and in front of him an endless, narrow corridor stretched out as long as his optics could see, the end hidden in dim, lusterless darkness.

His spark constricted as the reality of his current situation hit him with full force. Indeed, whatever choice he had once had, it was now gone as surely as had it never existed.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Author's note:**__ And with this chapter, we enter the final and most important arch of this story. While this fic is, as already mentioned, a stand-alone piece, I do recommend having read the prequels "Captured" and "Choices" before continuing, since this arc ties in heavily with those stories. Again, it's not necessary, but will help put things into perspective. _

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Many thanks to hydraling110 for betaing this. _

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

"Well, see you in a couple of joors!"

Thundercracker looked up from the data pad he had been occupied with, meeting with Jazz's visored face.

"Going somewhere?" the Seeker asked, glad for whatever small interruption would take his mind off the exceedingly boring report he was typing in.

"Just a routine mission." Jazz shrugged. "Shouldn't take too long. How about a game of Cybertronian chess when I get back?"

"You're on. And no cheating this time!"

Jazz only chuckled in response as he sauntered away, and Thundercracker reluctantly returned to his report. So much seemed to be routine nowadays, a never-ending cycle of briefings, missions, reports, and what-have-you. He would have thought that being stranded on another planet would have at least brought some change in the usual monotony, but in the end, little had changed.

Sometimes, it felt as if he was suffocating. Here they were, on a new planet with energy in abundance, and all they ever did was bicker and scuffle with the Autobots. Just like back on Cybertron, and still, neither side had anything to show for it.

Irritated, he typed – or slammed, was more like it – the finishing paragraph to his report, which, in the end, would only be cursorily glanced through, at best. Putting the pad aside, he leaned against the backrest of the chair, feeling a dull numbness settling into his joints.

Perhaps the promised game of chess later tonight would help to put him in a better mood.

* * *

For the second time that evening, Thundercracker rapped his knuckles against the door to Jazz's quarters. And still, nobody opened.

Strange. Jazz ought to be back by now. And it certainly wasn't like him not to let Thundercracker in when he came to pay the saboteur a visit.

Well, perhaps he was just somewhere else. Their headquarters weren't exactly smallish, after all. Even if the Seeker had already looked in the places where Jazz was at all likely to be found...

Oh well. There was nothing he could do about it anyway.

Giving the closed door a last, suspicious glare, Thundercracker turned and started to walk back to the rec room.

* * *

It wasn't until Thundercracker noticed that Jazz wasn't in the mess hall next morning that he seriously started to believe that something was not quite right. In fact, the saboteur was nowhere to be seen at all. Thundercracker had already made another try at the closed door to his quarters, but to no avail.

He had to admit that he was getting worried. While Jazz was a capable mech, he was not invulnerable. Had something happened to him on his mission? Was he wounded, or worse?

Staring into his energon cube, Thundercracker had no answers, only questions.

* * *

Judging by the ugly scowl on Megatron's face as he stood in front of his Decepticons in the rec room, he was angry about something. Perhaps it was another setback in his plans to one-up the Autobots that had caused the Decepticon leader's resentment. Perhaps it was bad news from Cybertron about the developments in the war that was still raging on as usual in their absence. Perhaps it was something else entirely.

Perhaps Megatron would tell them, and perhaps not. Probably not as likely if he was partly responsible for it himself, by some omission or thoughtlessness.

Thundercracker gave the mechs present another glance. Still no Jazz. Not that he had expected it.

"Decepticons!" the gray mech's voice cut through the air, bringing them all to attention. He strode a few paces before continuing, optics narrowed.

"I have received some disturbing intelligence," – at this, he briefly glanced at Soundwave who was standing close to his leader, Laserbeak perched on his shoulder. The cassetticon gave a single _craw_ as if to acknowledge Megatron's words, while the Third in Command remained as silent and unmoving as ever – "about the fate of one of our comrades."

The energon in Thundercracker's fuel lines felt like it had frozen into hard, solid ice. No question about it, Megatron was talking about _Jazz_. The Seeker held his breath, steeling himself for the worst.

"Unfortunately, it seems like our comrade Jazz has been captured by the Autobots while carrying out a mission." The words were spoken with the barely hidden rage of someone who had lost a valuable subordinate, not someone who cared about the fate of a comrade. No different from how he would have reacted should his fusion cannon have been destroyed.

Some uneasy glances were exchanged between the mechs, brought in part by the mental picture of ending up in a similar predicament, in part by the worry of how the loss of such an integral faction member would affect the efficiency and success of the rest of their team.

Thundercracker felt as if his feet had been welded to the floor; suddenly, they were heavier than lead. Jazz captured? He'd never really considered the possibility of something like that happening to the saboteur. Killed, yes, but not captured.

He barely heard a word of his leader's vehement condemnation of the enemy faction that followed. Neither did he hear the laudation of their own ideals and goals, or the murmur of consent from his comrades.

His... friend, being in the clutches of the Autobots? What were they going to do with him? What had they already done to him?

Those were questions that he didn't really want the answers to.

But one thing he knew – there'd be no rescue mission. Decepticon policy was quite clear on that – it was too risky and costly. Not to mention, a Decepticon worth the purple emblem on his chassis would manage to escape without any assistance. Jazz was on his own, with no help forthcoming from his comrades or the faction that he had dutifully served for so long.

Thundercracker felt a wave of anger and frustration washing over him. It wasn't _fair_ to simply abandon Jazz like that to whatever unkind fate was in store for him, like his life wasn't worth a thing.

But the saboteur was a clever, resourceful mech. He was used to getting himself into and out of places that were built to prevent exactly that. Surely he'd find a way to escape? Then again, the Autobots must have removed all his tools and devices he normally used for such, leaving him with no means whatsoever to aid in a breakout. They should easily be able to keep him locked up in the Ark forever, should they want to.

His spark constricted at the thought. Being killed in battle was one thing, but getting captured like that...

He wondered if the Autobots employed torture as a means of making prisoners talk. The enemy propaganda did, of course, vehemently decry such tactics, but that was hardly the place to look for any sort of objective truth. And according to their own propaganda, the Autobots did indeed do such – he remembered having read detailed descriptions of the kind of techniques used and his strong feeling of unease looking at the, most likely, manipulated pictures that had accompanied them – but then again, he didn't put much faith into propaganda from either side.

Still, a mech serving in Jazz's position was bound to know things. No doubt, the Autobots were aware of that. All their idealistic moralizing aside, surely they realized that when reality came knocking, sometimes a more pragmatic stance was more beneficial. Pretty ideals in peacetime were one thing; sticking to them while a war was raging outside was quite another.

An unwanted picture started to take shape in Thundercracker's processor – Jazz tied down to a berth, thick chains encircling his wrists and ankles, his screams echoing between the walls of the interrogation room as thousands of volts of electricity wracked his convulsing body.

_No_. The blue and white Seeker shook his head to clear it of the disturbing image. It couldn't possibly be the Autobot way, right? It was the kind of thing the Decepticon faction would do, and sometimes even enjoy doing.

He could only hope the Autobots wouldn't go that far. Or that Jazz would relent and tell his captors what they wanted to know before it came to that. A treacherous part of Thundercracker wished that the saboteur would voluntarily spill everything in order to spare himself any further torture or other unpleasantness. He was probably in for a pretty rough time regardless, violent coercion or nor.

Although what the Autobots would do to Jazz once they had gathered the desired information from their captive, Thundercracker didn't want to think of. And he most certainly didn't want to pay any attention to the words 'permanent deactivation' that were flashing in his mind like those huge neon signs adorning certain human establishments.

Would they? Or wouldn't they? It was, when it all came down to it, not much different from cold-blooded murder, which the Autobots claimed was wrong. Not that it would have been the first time a member of their faction would have overstepped Autobot moral boundaries, though. They were at war, after all.

On the other hand, the Earth-based Autobots were led by none other than Optimus Prime himself – the supposed personification of all that Autobot values embodied. Would he allow such a thing to happen?

Perhaps their solution would be to simply arrange a mock trial to appease their own consciences – one where the outcome and sentence had been decided upon in advance. A mere show to make sure that their untouchable morals weren't compromised.

And then they'd execute Jazz for spying and sabotage.

He grinded his teeth together so hard that he could hear them gnash. Out of all 'Cons on Earth, why did it have to be _Jazz_ who had to suffer the fate of capture?

His thoughts kept swirling, and he barely noticed the chatter around him as his comrades speculated eagerly and wildly about Jazz's fate. Nor did he notice how, much later in the evening, the others started to leave the rec room to retreat to their own quarters, some still talking among themselves about the unexpected news. Finally, Thundercracker was the only mech left in the room, staring numbly in front of himself. A small, rational part of his mind told him it was getting late and that he should go into recharge – after all, he did have an important mission tomorrow – but there was no way he would be able to fall asleep while haunted by all these mental images and speculations, well-founded or not. He was too worried about Jazz to recharge properly anyway.

What was Jazz doing now? Was he scared? Starving? In pain?

Another image, sharp and clear as the day, started to take shape in his processor as if to provide a mocking answer to Thundercracker's questions. It showed Jazz, huddling in the corner of a tiny dark cell, arms wrapped around his drawn-up knees, as if he was desperately trying to comfort himself. His usual cheerful smile had been wiped off as surely as had it never existed, only to be replaced by a hollow look of resignation mixed with fear. The normally well-polished black and white armour was dull and scratched, buckles and dents all over it. As Thundercracker reluctantly watched the little scene unfold before his inner optic – as disturbingly real as had he actually been there sharing the cell with his friend – a shiver passed over the huddled form, and the arms hugged tighter. An eerily real-sounding creak of a door that opened and closed, followed by approaching footsteps, made Jazz look up in horror and retreat even further into his little corner, as the owner of those footsteps spoke his name in the most terrible of voices-

"TC?"

The word was soft and barely audible, laden with hesitation, and yet it made Thundercracker jump as if he had seen a ghost. He whirled around to face his wingmate.

Skywarp looked a bit taken aback by the other's jittery reaction, but he quickly collected himself.

"So, uhm... is everything alright?" There was a nervous twitch in the black and purple wings, as if the Seeker was not sure whether he should even be there at all.

Thundercracker looked down on his fists that had curled themselves into tight balls without him having noticed, but didn't offer a reply. _What a daft question. _What did his wingmate expect? Jazz had been captured by the Autobots and could at this very moment be suffering the hells of the Pit, and Skywarp wondered if he was _alright_?

"I mean, I know that you and Jazz were... comrades and all," the other ventured, voice uncharacteristically hesitant, when his inquiry only met with a wall of silence.

His wingmate's comment just served to raise Thundercracker's ire even further. What did Skywarp know about caring for another mech? Why didn't he just go play with those dimwitted Triplechangers or something? Harass some other unfortunate mech with his idiotic pranks now that Jazz was gone and couldn't be the victim anymore?

"Oh, I'm alright," Thundercracker spat out sarcastically. "Apart from the fact that Jazz might right now be having his skull smashed in or his armour peeled off by some Autobot, I'm _perfectly_ _fine_." As he spoke the last words, his lips were curling with ill-hidden disgust and vehemence.

Somehow, lashing out felt _good_. It was the first outward emotional reaction that he had allowed himself since Megatron had brought forward the disturbing news. And now, all that had boiled within him ever since desperately wanted an outlet.

Skywarp took a step back as if the words had been punches, forcing him into retreat. His hands were raised in a feeble attempt to ward off the unmistakable anger and loathing tainting his wingmate's voice.

"Look, I didn't mean it like that... I just wanted to..."

Thundercracker scowled. Couldn't Skywarp see that he just wanted to be alone? Why was that concept always so infuriatingly difficult for his black and purple wingmate to grasp?

"Get out, Skywarp. _Now_." The words were a soft but menacing threat; though spoken in a barely audible voice, the sharp, deadly edge was still there. For whatever reason, he just couldn't bear the sight of his wingmate right now.

He expected the other to get angry, to shout insults at him in return, or at least disdainfully flip him off.

He didn't. Instead, the Seeker just stared at Thundercracker for several astroseconds, and then slowly turned on his heel and walked off, not speaking a word.

The blue Seeker kept staring at the door long after Skywarp had closed it behind him.

He had hoped that his outlash would have made him feel better, but it didn't. His concern for his captured comrade raged as strong as ever within him, feeling as if it was eating him from the inside out.

_Jazz. Are you even still alive? _


	16. Chapter 16

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Many thanks to hydraling110 for betaing this. _

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

Thundercracker leaned against the wall in the main room, tiredly eyeing the sight before him. The room was teeming with his fellow Decepticons, not one of them having been foolish enough to ignore the command Megatron had issued to gather here with immediate effect. The only one conspicuously missing – apart from Jazz – was their leader, and so they were all awaiting his arrival, some more apprehensively than others.

Normally when Megatron ordered them all together like this, what would follow was either good news or bad news – never anything in between. Thundercracker had the nagging suspicion that it was about to be the latter this time, and judging by the tense atmosphere that pressed over the room like a thick wet blanket, so did many others.

The blue and white Seeker crossed his arms in disgust as he watched Frenzy and Rumble – cocky in their knowledge that the presence of their creator was enough to stave off any serious retaliation – antagonize some of the other, much larger mechs. A spasm in Skywarp's right leg spoke of his desire to send the closest one of the annoying cassetticons flying as far as the confines of the room would allow, but he wisely kept the twitching appendage in check.

Soundwave himself stood impassive, as always making no attempts to draw attention to himself as he diligently registered everything that went on. While the constant, imperceptive scanning of the surroundings and whatever mechs that happened to be in them was never obvious, Thundercracker found that being in Soundwave's presence was like having a security camera following and recording his every move. A camera directly linked to Megatron.

Red optics suddenly met his, crimson abysses void of even the tiniest shred of emotions or hints that the blue mech was a living being. The piercing, searching glare sent a chill down Thundercracker's back as it wandered over him, and he quickly averted his gaze, hoping his staring hadn't been noted.

In the far corner of the room, the Constructicons were huddled, all six of them either half-sitting or half-standing, as usual taking little interest in anything that didn't directly revolve around their own gestalt. None of them spoke to each other, but the mere presence of the other five seemed to be enough for them. Mixmaster was idly twiddling his fingers, but other than that there was no activity coming from their general direction.

The same couldn't be said for Thundercracker's own teammate, however. In the middle of the room, Starscream was pacing back and forth, impatience radiating from him like heat from an afterburner. Being relegated to waiting – being kept in the dark as to what was going on – didn't suit the Air Commander one bit. His distinct voice had an even shriller quality to it than usual as he clothed his frustration in words.

"So why isn't our glorious leader here to fill us in on whatever it is that's so important?" he loudly questioned no one in particular, an angry fist clenched in front of his chassis serving to underline his words.

The subdued conversations that had filled the room with quiet murmurs died down as everyone's attention turned to the Second in Command as he let his vitriol spill forth, not caring in the slightest who heard him.

"Bet Megatron has screwed up again, and now we're supposed to pick up the pieces. Like last time, when he..."

Before Starscream's ravings had expanded any further on what had happened last time, they were interrupted by a loud bang as the door to the main room was flung open. Almost in unison, every head in the room turned towards the sound, while the mechs who had been sitting or slouching quickly came to attention.

In the doorframe, frightening and horrifying like a vengeful apparition, stood Megatron, red optics narrowed to slits and anger palpitating from every inch of his form as he strode across the room, coming to a halt in the middle.

Starscream had already retreated to the nearest wall, full well knowing that any rebellious antics when the gray mech was in this foul mood would only be awarded with a burst from his fusion cannon. As willing as the Air Commander was to push his luck, even he had enough of a sense of self-preservation to know when to stay back.

In the deathly silence that followed, Megatron's optics swept across the room to meet those of his Second in Command, a silent warning embedded in the fiery stare. Starscream visibly shrunk back as their gazes locked. While he was not unaccustomed to being the victim of Megatron's violent outbursts, he still knew that there was a time and a place for everything.

And this wasn't it.

Wary optics tracked the gray, imposing mech, their owners struggling to balance on the precarious ledge of not coming across as inattentive while avoiding accidentally catching Megatron's gaze and risk becoming the target of his rage.

A low-frequency sound reverberated in the silence, slowly increasing in strength as the bystanders felt the vibrations resonate in their chassis. The crescendo rose until what emanated from the Decepticon leader's vocalizer couldn't be described as anything else than an animalistic growl, brought by pure rage and fuelled by personal slight.

Moments ticked by. Not one single mech spoke or moved. Thundercracker held his breath, prepared to dive for cover in case whatever it was that had so royally fragged Megatron off would result in any unpleasantness beyond the verbal level.

But nothing of the sort happened. Instead, the Decepticon leader seemed to calm down, at least temporarily, his anger being reigned in before it took control of him.

"I have received reports," Megatron stated in an uncharacteristically low voice, "that we have been harbouring a traitor in our midst." The word 'traitor' was spat out like it had been venom burning his tongue, as if merely taking the word in his mouth was enough to sully his Decepticon purity.

Anxious gazes were exchanged among the gathered mechs, confusion and worry ill hidden. Still no one dared to speak, but the unspoken questions vibrated in the air as clearly as had they been shouted out at the maximum capacity of their vocalizers:

_A traitor? Among _us_? Who? Who could have betrayed our cause? _

And then, there was a noticeable shift as the questions gave way to equally unvoiced concerns, still as palpable as anything material in the room. This time, what was unspoken was accompanied by pure, unadulterated _fear_.

And that fear filled the room, rose like a crescendo, loud and overbearing despite its silence. It pulsated like a living creature caught in chains, rolling and twisting as it strained against its bonds, bucking furiously. The undulating waves of terror resonated against each other until joining as one, transforming into an unheard, uniform lament.

_It can't be me. I haven't done anything that could be classified as treason, right? I've always been loyal! Megatron knows that. Unless someone has tried to frame me? No, no, he isn't talking about _me_. He isn't, please say he isn't. _

Megatron's gaze swept across his shocked subordinates. At that moment, there was not a mech in the room – save perhaps Soundwave – who wasn't terrified that those blazing red optics would come to a halt just as they met with _him_, marking him as the despicable traitor.

Thundercracker felt his fuel tank constrict when Megatron looked straight at him, as if the gray mech could scan his very spark and mind, uncovering every secret held therein. It seemed like an eternity that those optics rested on him, and in that lingering moment, a million thoughts raced through Thundercracker, screaming and tearing at him like madmechs. In an instant, the whole universe had been reduced to that pair of brightly burning optics, his potential judge and executioner.

While Thundercracker struggled not to let fear grab hold of his sanity, a more rational part of him couldn't help but feel a small part of admiration for Starscream and his courage in daring to stand up to their leader. While he had normally dismissed his wingmate's rebelliousness as over-confidence or just plain stupidity, he now felt a new kind of respect for the Air Commander.

But it was quickly drowned in the raging flood of his other thoughts: Was this the end? Had Megatron somehow found out about his lackluster dedication to their cause? How he had even entertained the thought of defecting? True, he had never spoken a word of it to anyone, but perhaps there was some merit to those persistent rumours about the Third in Command's ability to read minds? Could he have tipped Megatron off?

But then, amazingly, mercifully, when Thundercracker thought he couldn't take anymore of the suspense, the optics dismissed him like he had been a pile of junk and continued to wander on their path, seeking out their next object.

The Seeker resisted the impulse to collapse onto the floor in an undignified heap in pure relief.

_The optics hadn't indicted him. Not this time. _

Agonizing moments later, the gaze had finally travelled over the entire half-circle of gathered mechs, several of which had been standing prepared to meet their doom. Thundercracker dared a quick look at his comrades: Rumble looked distinctly ill; the Combaticons had drawn closer together as if their teammates' presence could somehow protect them from their leader's wrath; Skywarp's usual smug look was gone as surely as had it been blasted off with Megatron's fusion cannon.

"Indeed, we have been harbouring a traitor among us," Megatron repeated as if there was even a distinct possibility that anyone had not been paying attention to him the first time. There was an ugly grimace on his face, as if the mere thought of such a preposterousness was enough to send him into a murderous rage at any moment.

The grimace settled into a scowl as he continued. "I have received very reliable reports that a mech we trusted as a comrade – as one of our own – someone we thought supported our struggle has _betrayed_ us." He made a pause, as every mech in the room anxiously leaned forward to hear what would come next.

"Jazz has defected to the Autobots." The words were simple and straightforward, objectively stated and devoid of any embellishments to give them a more dramatic flavour. But their impact was strong enough.

A few gasps and shocked exclamations were the immediate response, and then the room erupted into a chattering chaos, fear of Megatron no longer enough to keep the Decepticons quiet. Incredulity and disbelief mixed with even greater amounts of anger and resentment, as each mech did his utmost to distance himself from the Decepticon-turned-traitor. It wasn't only a spontaneous reaction brought about by hate for someone who had betrayed their faction, but also a deliberate show of outrage to assure their comrades of their dedication and loyalty to the cause.

It was self-preservation at its finest. Vicious, insulting epithets, each more vitriolic than the other, were impotently hurled at the mech who was no longer among them or could hear them. But it didn't matter. The only thing that did matter was that those who stood gathered could.

"I knew it!" Hook's voice carried over the cacophonic madness. "I knew from the very start that he was no-good _scum_!" Roars of assent accompanied his words, as if Jazz's treacherous leanings had been obvious to them all from the very start.

"If Jazz were here now, I'd personally make him regret the moment he was created," Frenzy declared as he shook his fist violently. "I'd tear his armour plates off one by one, and then I'd rip his cables out and..."

"Ha, he'd off-line you before you ever had a chance to do that," Rumble mocked his twin. "But I'd crush him with my pile drivers, stomp his worthless chassis into pieces before he..."

"You and what army? The most you could crush with those things is a squishy!" Frenzy managed to throw back before a set of knuckles planted themselves in his face and the two cassetticons went down in a blur of flailing arms and legs.

"If I ever run across that filthy little saboteur again, there won't be more of him left than you can hold in your palm," Blitzwing declared, tiny specks of oral fluid flying from his mouth as he shouted. Hate made his face light up like a beacon, as he relished in the thought of what he wanted to do with his former comrade if given the chance.

Thundercracker only stood and watched the hysteric scene unfold before him, watched as the self-amplifying madness surged to new levels as the 'Cons egged each other on, each trying to outdo the previous speaker. Watched how everybody washed their hands of Jazz, like he was acid threatening to corrode their chassis. Even those, or perhaps particularly those, who had been on good terms with him.

But even though Thundercracker was standing close, the scene seemed strangely distant, as if there had been a soundproof glass wall between him and the other mechs, preventing him from finding any meaning in what he was seeing. He thought he should be able to make sense out of it, and yet he wasn't.

Megatron's words had washed over him like icy water, freezing him into immobility where he stood. Had he really heard correctly? But as a testament to that truth, the words still echoed in his processor, a never-ending litany that refused to let itself be silenced.

_Jazz has defected._ _Jazz has defected. Jazz has defected._

Could it really be true? Or was this part of some scheming plan of Megatron's, to somehow test the loyalty of his subordinates? To see how they would react? But Thundercracker knew which option was more likely to be correct, and the enormity of it was almost too much for him to take in. And the questions it gave rise to swirled in his mind like a raging sea, threatening to drown him in confusion and disbelief.

Had Jazz defected by his own free will? Or had the Autobots manipulated or otherwise forced him to switch allegiance? Maybe he had only done it as a way to gain his freedom back, and then as soon as opportunity presented itself make for his escape? There was no way to know, no clues or hints that would get Thundercracker any closer to the truth. Only the single fact that Jazz had abandoned the Decepticon cause in favour of the Autobot way hovered in front of him, taunting him in all its devious glory.

And slowly it dawned to Thundercracker, as much as he didn't want to consider it, that this development could result in unpleasant consequences for himself as well. Him, Thundercracker. Jazz's closest comrade.

Everyone was aware of it. Everyone had noticed that they had spent a lot of time together. Everyone had seen them constantly _talking _to each other, perhaps about defection and treason for all anyone knew.

Thundercracker scanned the raving collection of mechs who were still shouting abuse and shaking clenched fists into the air. Who among them would be the first to see the logical conclusion, to take the next step and remember the connection between him and Jazz?

Then, in the tumult, he caught sight of a pair of optics that was looking straight at him, as if trying to draw his attention.

Skywarp.

He stared back into his wingmate's face, expecting to see scorn, derision, hate, or any of the other feelings that shone so brightly on his comrades' faces. But to Thundercracker's surprise, Skywarp only looked... worried?

He had no time to consider this any further before a voice bellowed over the noise. "Silence!"

The frenzied hate orgy died down at Megatron's command, the mechs slowly coming out of their trance-like state, some of them looking surprised to find themselves back to the reality of the dreary main room. Frenzy and Rumble had halted in action like two mechanic dolls stopped by the mere press of a button, a red fist hovering inches above a gray face. Quickly, they rolled off each other and got to their feet, looking vaguely ashamed of themselves.

The Decepticon leader strode forward, his calm sharply contrasting against the barely suppressed rage that simmered below the surface.

"Since I thought you were entitled to know about Jazz's fate, I have told you. But take note that I don't want to hear the traitor's name spoken in my presence _ever_ again. He is dead to us now," Megatron said, not bothering to elaborate on what would happen to anyone who defied his order.

Again, a demure silence followed in which mechs shuffled their feet and looked anywhere but at Megatron's face. But this time it was quickly broken by Soundwave who, perhaps sensing that a morale boost was needed, raised his fist into the air and gave voice to a simple "Megatron".

The chant was quickly taken up by the other 'Cons, who were more than eager to show their loyalty in the light of recent developments. Soon the whole room was reverberating with the sound of the Decepticon leader's name as it bounced off the walls, amplified into thunder as the assembled mechs vigorously took part.

There was a minuscule tug at the corners of the gray mech's mouth, but it never grew into a full smile, lips instead choosing to retract into their usual thin line. Megatron simply watched the display for a few moments before turning his back and heading towards the door.

As he passed Thundercracker, he stopped briefly in his tracks.

"Be at my office in five breems. I want to have a word with you."

* * *

_**End note:**__ Don't know if anyone who has read the book noticed the similarities, but this chapter was loosely inspired by the "two minutes hate" scene in George Orwell's 1984.  
_


	17. Chapter 17

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Many thanks to hydraling110 for betaing this. _

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

Thundercracker was standing frozen in front of the gray steel door, trying to work up the courage to lift his hand and knock on it, but his bravery was slowly and steadily giving way to a growing icy knot in his stomach. None of his limbs wanted to obey him, and it was a small miracle that he was able to stand, considering how his knees seemed to have turned into molten steel.

Collecting his last remnants of willpower, he managed to raise a tightly clenched fist and rap his knuckles at the metal in front of him. Although it had been a timid knock, its echoes filled the empty corridor and pounded at his audio receptors.

He waited breathlessly.

"Enter," a cold, emotionless voice ordered from inside.

Thundercracker's innards churned again, and as reluctant fingers gripped the handle he did his best to ignore the ringing alarm in his processor that told him to make a run for it. Anywhere would be safer than here.

He slid the door open and gingerly entered Megatron's personal office, feet heavy.

The room was large, but not gaudy or elaborately decorated in any way. Apart from its size, there was little marking it as belonging to a mighty leader about to put the entire planet under his feet. 'Functional' and 'practical' was the best way to describe it.

Of course, Megatron had no time or patience for flamboyancy. If something didn't directly aid in the war effort, it wasn't worth his trouble.

Thundercracker paid all this no more attention than a fleeting thought. His focus was now fully directed towards the gray mech seated in the chair before him, body language giving the impression that he was sitting on a throne, red optics boring into the other like sharp needles.

The Seeker flinched as the door hissed and shut behind him. Being stared at like this by his leader made him feel like vulnerable prey, having no place to run or hide, his only option being an unbearable wait for his own looming but inevitable demise. Claws and teeth were bared in front of him, about to sink into his vital fuel lines.

"So, Thundercracker." The gray mech made a pause, as if he was waiting for something – maybe a confession, a plea for mercy, or even preemptive, stubborn denial of not yet voiced accusaitons. But the Seeker held his silence, resignedly awaiting what was coming next.

"Do you know why I called you here?"

Of course, Thundercracker already knew the answer. In light of Jazz's defection, the Seeker's own loyalty had been called into question. One did not fraternize with traitors unquestioned or unpunished.

It was the ultimate irony. For all the treacherous thoughts he had harboured, he had always managed to keep facades up and his own lackluster dedication hidden, and now someone else's defection was what would indict him. Somewhere, Primus had to be laughing his aft off at him.

Thundercracker hesitated. A 'yes' could be taken as an admission of guilt, while a 'no' could be interpreted as a futile attempt at playing stupid in order to cover up that very guilt. Either way, there was no correct answer, no saving magic words that would clear him of his leader's suspicion.

"I assume it has to do with the... recent defection from our ranks." He deliberately omitted Jazz's name, not because of the warning Megatron had given earlier, but in a vain attempt to put some distance between himself and the saboteur. Make it seem as if their relation wasn't as close and cordial after all.

Megatron shifted in his seat and tilted his head a few degrees, as if looking at Thundercracker from another angle would help him see things he would otherwise be unable to.

There was no comment to or acknowledgement of the words in any way. Instead, the Decepticon leader simply followed up his first question with another one.

"As I understand it – and you may correct me if I'm wrong – you and Jazz were quite close comrades, and some might even have gone as far as to call you... _friends_?"

The last word was laden with disgust, as if the mere mentioning of such atrocities was enough to cover the speaker in unspeakable filth. Of course, 'friends' was a very un-Decepticon-ish concept. It meant crossing the border of faction camaraderie and into Autobot territory where sentimentality and dependence roamed freely, waiting to sink poisonous fangs into anyone foolish enough to venture into their realm.

A Decepticon was expected to be a walking embodiment of strength, ambition, and power-hunger, both on behalf of his faction and of himself. Having friends did not fit into that equation. It was like a spot on a white canvas, a dent in newly crafted armour, or an ugly rift in a spark. It made a mech weak, and unfit to carry the cause forward into victory and triumph.

He had to weigh his words carefully.

"Like everyone on base, we were comrades. Since I was the one assigned to be his mentor when he was a newcomer, we initially had to spend a lot of time together, and it grew into a habit. Most mentor-newcomer relations tend to follow that pattern." The calm and rationality of his own response surprised the Seeker. It showed none of the inner turmoil he was feeling, none of the bubbling fear that made him want to purge his fuel tanks in protest. Perhaps it was just survival instinct kicking in, allowing his logical circuits to take over to protect him from the fate of the smelting pools.

"Is that so. Then tell me, exactly how much did you know about your comrade's leanings towards the enemy cause?" Megatron asked causally, his gaze still unwavering. Perhaps he was waiting for some crack in Thundercracker's armour to reveal itself and expose all of his treacherous sympathies.

"Nothing, Lord Megatron! I knew nothing whatsoever!" the Seeker gasped, not having to fake any of the horrified expression on his faceplates at the blatant accusation.

Only partly true. Sure, he had not _known_ anything, but the suspicions had been there, impossible to deny. Jazz had not been nearly as committed to their cause as a proper Decepticon soldier should have been.

"He never told you about his desire to defect?"

"No, not a word! I had no idea he was even thinking along those lines."

Megatron snorted. "Then you're apparently not as perceptive as you should be. Surely such a mindset ought to be quite obvious to someone spending so much time with one single mech."

"I... I just... never noticed. Maybe the signs were there all along, but I just... didn't see them." It sounded lame, and he knew it. Not even the slowest of mechs who were barely able to tell their own heads apart from their afts would be fooled by his vain attempts to clear himself. And much less the mighty Decepticon leader, who had depended not only on brute strength but also on clear-sighted cunning to make it where he was today.

"Or perhaps you just didn't _want_ to see?" The words were all but growled forth, and the imposing leader leaned forward in the chair with his hands on his desk, anger radiating from him like heat from an afterburner.

The Seeker instinctively took a step back. He knew that the desk that physically separated them was a feeble protection, unable to shield him from his leader's wrath should it be unleashed at him full force.

Panic threatened to well up within him. He could have sworn he saw the fusion cannon on the other mech's arm twitch as if it had a mind of its own, one that dictated that Thundercracker should be blown into tiny bits and pieces. In desperation, he clawed at the only straw of grass he could find. It was small and weak, not nearly strong enough to support his weight, but he grabbed for it with both hands, pouring all his last hopes into that last chance of salvation.

"Maybe the Autobots forced him to defect. Or... or processor-washed him. Or somehow _made_ him do it."

His suggestions didn't seem to be putting Megatron into a more beneficial state of mind, though.

"The Autobots are too weak-willed to processor-wash anyone. Too soft and cowardly," he said derisively. "And whatever methods they used, a true Decepticon soldier should have been able to resist. Or at least die trying." There was a note of finality in his voice that refused to accept any opposition.

Thundercracker gulped. "Maybe Jazz was never... a true Decepticon. Perhaps he wanted to be one, but in the end he wasn't made of the right material. Not everyone makes a worthy Decepticon. And we were all too blind to see it."

Megatron's optics narrowed as he regarded the Seeker. "Yes, weak, unworthy material is everywhere. Luckily, _most_ of it becomes Autobots, if not weeded out even sooner. And, as it has been made clear, Jazz had no business being in our army in the first place."

He fell silent for a moment, seemingly pondering something as fingertips moved restlessly against the smooth metal of his desk.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"So tell me then, Thundercracker, what would you have done, had you discovered Jazz's treacherous nature before he defected?" A direct question that demanded an equally direct answer. And Thundercracker didn't hesitate.

"I would have reported him to a superior officer. Or, if necessary, killed him myself."

Lies, lies. They felt so obvious that he was surprised that the other mech didn't laugh straight into his face for trying to pass off such a ridiculous notion as truth. But it was all he could do to fend off the looming threat of a permanent off-lining. When it all came down to it, he still wanted to _live_.

"I would hope so. Especially considering that sooner or later, a traitor's ideas tend to rub off on those who spend a lot of time in his presence," the gray mech remarked pointedly, still refusing to let the Seeker off the hook.

"Only if those mechs have weak mindsets to start with. But as far as I'm concerned, Jazz is a filthy traitor who deserves to be thrown into the smelting pools, and I would gladly do so myself if given the opportunity. I'm ashamed that I used to call him a comrade."

As he uttered the hateful, unforgiving words, he felt a small part of himself curl up and die. For all the lies they embodied, there was one unpalatable, painful truth that stood out as clear as the day – that in the end, he was no different from all those other mechs in the common room earlier today, each trying only to save his own hide, seeing nothing but his own safety before his optics. Protecting himself by putting others into the line of fire.

Yes, he was exactly like them. Perhaps this proved as much as anything that he was, in spite of both his own and Megatron's doubts, a Decepticon to the very core.

"Thrown him into the smelting pools, huh? Even someone as _close_ to you as Jazz?" Megatron said mockingly. Clearly, he didn't find Thundercracker's desperate display of loyalty very convincing.

"_Especially_ someone that close. Not only did he betray the cause with his disgraceful defection, but me as well. I'd love to pay him back for that treachery and...."

Waves of shame and self-loathing rolled over Thundercracker as he spoke, as he shifted the blame away from himself, as he distanced himself from it as far as he could. Distanced himself from Jazz, and anything that could indict him as being a traitor too.

_He truly was a strutless coward. _

"Wouldn't we all," Megatron derisively cut him off. His optics flared as he regarded the Seeker. "Now, listen carefully, Thundercracker. As you know, I do not tolerate anything less than total dedication and conviction. As for where you stand on the scale... I'm not yet convinced."

He paused, and Thundercracker held his breath, trying not to tremble under the hard, unwavering gaze. Was this it? Was Megatron going to off-line him? Were some of his comrades about to barge through the door at any second to drag him off to his awaiting fate?

"I'm going to put you under supervision. And if I receive reports of anything, _anything_ at all, that you do not fully support the Decepticon cause..." He let a pointed motion of his hands finish the sentence, a tell-tale mimicking of what would happen to the Seeker should he fail to meet expectations.

Thundercracker nodded, struggling to find his voice again.

"I... O-of course, mighty Megatron. I have nothing to hide, and I'm glad to be given a chance to prove my loyalty and dedication to you," he managed to stammer forth, feeling both disappointed and disgusted with himself. Had he always been such a spineless, fearful creature?

The Decepticon leader didn't acknowledge his subordinate's words. Of course, a mech in his position was used to others trying to deceive and manipulate him, and words meant little to him anymore. He would not believe until he saw the proof with his own optics.

"You're dismissed."

Backing away for a couple of steps, Thundercracker reluctantly turned around and made for the door, half expecting to hear his leader's fusion cannon being powered up. Even though the distance between him and the exit could be bridged in just a few quick strides, it suddenly seemed to stretch on forever. The lingering salvation in front of him appeared to mock him, laugh at him in the knowledge that he would never reach it before falling dead to the floor.

Shivering, he gripped at the handle and forced the door open, cursing the slowness with which it retracted. He had to get out of here. Just _out_. He'd suffocate if he stayed in this room even an astrosecond longer.

He pushed himself through the passage before the door had fully opened, not caring or even wincing as the edge of his wing scraped painfully against the frame. As long as he could get to his own quarters, lock himself in and everything else out, he would be fine. At least for the moment, if nothing else.

His legs were unwilling and unresponsive as he forced them to walk down the corridor, but he resisted the temptation to reach out a hand to the wall for support. The fact that his spark was still pulsating in his chest seemed like a miracle, one that he would have thought to be nothing but a vain hope just a few short moments ago.

Behind him, he heard the tell-tale signs of footsteps approaching, the sound of metal against metal faintly echoing between the corridor walls. Paranoidly, he wheeled around, half expecting that the unknown mech was about to assault and kill him on Megatron's orders.

But his stalker wasn't his would-be assassin. No, it was much worse than that.

"Hey TC, wait up!"

_Oh Primus_. Thundercracker winced as the black and purple Seeker came into view. With the exception of Megatron, his idiotic, annoying wingmate was about the last mech he wanted to see right now.

But as usual, Skywarp's distinct lack of tact and sensitivity made him oblivious to Thundercracker's wish to be left alone. Or perhaps he just chose to disregard it.

"Did you know, Thundercracker?" were the first words out of the Seeker's mouth as he had closed the distance between them. "Did you _know_?" he repeated, as if the reply couldn't come quickly enough, making a motion to grab at the other's arm.

The blue and white Seeker took a step back, out of his wingmate's reach. Why couldn't Skywarp just mind his own business for once?

"Know _what_?" he sneered, despite already full well knowing what Skywarp was getting at.

"You know... that Jazz was actually a traitor who had his mind set on defecting and..." The words trailed off as he saw the look on his wingmate's faceplates. This time, it was Skywarp's turn to take a step back.

"Of course I didn't!" The words were all but spat into the other's face, anger and resentment tightly wrapped around each syllable. "You really think I would have pretended like everything was alright if I had known we harboured an Autobot sympathizer in our midst?"

Skywarp looked taken aback by the sudden hostility. "N-no, of course not..." he muttered, not sounding convinced.

"Good. Then why did you ask?"

"I just... " He hesitated. "So what did Megatron say to you?"

"Well, apparently he doubts my loyalty and will have me placed under supervision." He might as well tell his wingmate the truth. It wasn't as if the whole base wouldn't find out soon enough anyway. And somehow it felt oddly liberating to utter what had to be the first sincere, honest statement that had passed over his lips today.

"Oh."

Skywarp looked as if he was about to say something else, but Thundercracker cut him short. He was already dead tired of having accusations thrown at him and being forced to defend himself.

"Now, I have other matters to take care of, so I'd appreciate it if you left me alone."

With that, he turned around and stomped off, leaving Skywarp to dumbly stare after his retreating form.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Many thanks to hydraling110 for betaing this. _

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

"It's not poisonous."

Skywarp looked down at the energon cube that had been placed on the desk before him, lustrous glints of pink emanating from its contents. He wasn't sure if he should verbally acknowledge the both amused and mocking comment. Instead, he gingerly reached for the container and sipped from its rim, resisting the urge to gulp it down in one big sweep. The high-grade would have calmed his high-strung circuits, but in his current situation it would be a wiser choice to keep his full wits about him.

"So," Megatron said as he reclined back into his chair, studying the nervous flier seated in front of him. "I want you to speak freely and openly with me. And keep in mind that this isn't an interrogation, only a friendly conversation between the two of us."

"Uh-huh," the black and purple Seeker replied dumbly, not knowing what else to say. He had a pretty good idea why Megatron had called him to his office, and he didn't like it one bit.

Being alone with the Decepticon leader on his own turf wasn't a pleasant experience under any circumstances. It was like being hooked up to a mind-reading machine that was trying to get inside of his head, sharp hooks and barbs prying into his skull to uncover his every secret. Scanning and examining him. And probably finding him lacking.

The silence was making him nervous and jittery. Skywarp hated silence.

"So tell me about Thundercracker."

Of course. He had known what topic the conversation would revolve around. And he hated that even more than the silence.

"Well, he's my wingmate..." Skywarp began, stating the obvious. A hint of impatience on the gray mech's face made him desperately fumble for anything less inane to say. "And he's a... really good flier. He's always taken his duty to develop his skills very seriously. I don't think I've seen any other Seeker work as hard as him." It was all true. He hoped that Megatron would ask no further, but knew better than that.

"Yes, I've understood that much. In fact, I was the one who promoted him to his current position, having seen his potential." He made a pause, as if pondering how best to put forth what he was about to say next.

"However, neither potential nor skill is worth anything if not combined with the right mindset. Wouldn't you agree, Skywarp?"

The Seeker nodded eagerly. Doing anything less would be suicidal.

"Good. So with that in mind I want to ask you this: How would you, as his trinemate, judge Thundercracker's loyalty and dedication?" It was a direct and to-the-point question, jumping directly to the heart of the issue.

"He... he... has always performed his duties as diligently as any Decepticon."

"That's not what I asked. But since you're not known as one of the smartest mechs around here, I'll spell it out for you. Now, have you ever seen any signs hinting that Thundercracker might be having second thoughts about his allegiance?"

Skywarp writhed. He knew very well the answer to that question. Megatron might be right about his processor not being up to speed with those of most other mechs, but not even he was dim-witted enough to be fooled by Thundercracker's show. Not after all the years he had been Thundercracker's wingmate and all the time he had spent in his presence.

It had been subtle at first. But as time dragged on, it had become impossible to ignore or pretend like it wasn't there. Perhaps the blue and white Seeker was unaware of all those little signals he had been sending out, but Skywarp had picked up on them. And some had been quite obvious – his reaction in the aftermath of the attack on Klaeth, his discomfort whenever fleshlings were attacked here on Earth, his lackluster interest in the advancement of their cause.

The answer to Megatron's question was clearly 'yes.'

"No, Lord Megatron."

Did that make him a traitor as well? No, unlike Thundercracker, he did support the Decepticon cause. But Thundercracker was his... wingmate, and he couldn't betray him like this. Protocol dictated that it was his duty to rat him out, but it didn't matter – there was no way he could condemn Thundercracker to the fate he supposedly deserved.

The hard optics in front of him seemed to grow until they filled Skywarp's entire view. Even the gray face disappeared into the background as those two humongous red pools hovered before the Seeker, threatening to drown him in the abyss beneath.

"It seems to be more or less common knowledge around the base that Thundercracker doesn't particularly like you." The words were drawled smugly, as if the speaker took great pleasure in pointing this little tidbit out.

_Common knowledge known around the base, huh? _If it had been anyone else than Megatron uttering those words, the face of that mech would have made a quick acquaintance with Skywarp's fist.

"So with that in mind, I can assume that you are not just covering for your wingmate?" the Decepticon leader continued, not bothering to hide the implied accusation.

"Yes, Lord Megatron. I wouldn't do that for anyone, wingmate or not. Especially not someone like Thundercracker," Skywarp said as resolutely as he could, suddenly feeling his previous apprehension fade away, despite the fear that the presence of his leader normally commanded. He had made his decision, and there was no turning back now, so why should he cower and fear like some pathetic Autobot?

"Then I trust that you will immediately report any findings that Thundercracker is not the loyal Decepticon soldier he should be?"

Skywarp smiled and took another swig from his energon cube, enjoying the cool sensation as the liquid slid down his throat, his lies flowing just as smoothly in the opposite direction. "I will. You can trust me."

Well, he was, after all, a Decepticon. And the name was there for a reason, wasn't it?

* * *

Thundercracker was half-sitting, half-lying on his berth, having closed the door to the world outside, literally as well as figuratively. Right now, he was fully engulfed within his own world and the thoughts that were swirling like a raging sea in his processor.

Jazz had defected. No doubt about it. Intial disbelief aside, he was now certain that if Megatron claimed it was true, then it had to be. Their leader had no reason to give voice to such a statement if there was any doubt about it whatsoever, given that this was the worst possible outcome seen from Decepticon perspective. If the Autobots had off-lined the saboteur or just kept him locked up, that would have been less detrimental to morale than the knowledge that a comrade had willingly defected to the enemy. Had it been at all possible to cover such a treasonous act up, Megatron would no doubt have done so. But for all the times their leader had suppressed or obfuscated the truth, this time he had had no choice but to stick to it. If the Autobots had accepted Jazz as one of their own, they'd encounter him in battle sooner or later, and they might as well be prepared for it.

Thundercracker's mind wanted to drift off in all possible directions, and the disjointed thoughts were threatening to flood his processor. At times, everything was a muddled chaos, and at other times, single strands of memories or pictures floated up from the swirling mixture, gleaming briefly in his consciousness before sinking back down again.

Jazz as he had first seen him when the saboteur had arrived at their headquarters – face surprisingly open and friendly, silently inviting Thundercracker to step into his world; Jazz telling jokes and sharing funny anecdotes over an energon cube – grinning and laughing, an arm intimately slung over Thundercracker's shoulder; Jazz sitting by himself thinking no one was nearby – a dark shadow looming on his face.

Jazz as he stood proudly and swore allegiance to the Autobots, breaking with his old faction once and for all.

The last picture was fuzzy and blurry, and he had no idea how much truth there was to it, if any at all. He had no way to know the specifics surrounding the saboteur's defection, no way to know what had pushed him into making that choice. Or how large a part the circumstances – or the Autobots themselves – had played.

But he didn't want to think about that, didn't want to consider that possibility. He wanted Jazz's defection to be clean and pure, devoid of any coercion, threats or desperate last-way-out decisions. Of course, he realized that the chance of that was rather small, but he hoped that the defection had at least partly grown out of Jazz's own convictions.

Perhaps it was a pathetic wish. Not for the contents as such, but for the reason behind it. Because when it all came down to it, _he_ could never make the choice to defect, regardless of how much he might have wanted to. Not when he had two bondmates that he was intrinsically tied to. Living the rest of his life – or at least Starscream's and Skywarp's lives – with not one bond, but _two_ bonds, aching and screaming inside of him for the comfort that only the joining with his bondmates' sparks could bring, would have been sheer torture.

In the end, he knew that he had no choice but to accept the lesser of the two evils – stay with his current faction and keep the ability to indulge the demands of his bonds. And in the face of his own impotency to change his fate, Jazz had in his mind turned into a stand-in of sorts. A substitute that could do what Thundercracker could not, someone onto whom the Seeker could project his own desires. Not unlike how a human parent would sometimes try to live through their offspring, hoping they would pick up the fallen mantle of their own broken dreams and unfulfilled longings.

Pathetic, indeed. He knew it and made no attempt to hide it or deny it to himself – that in the end, there was nothing he could do but sit here as the world turned and nothing changed, wishing for Jazz to have done what he would never be able to.

It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. At least somebody had broken out of the dreary, seemingly never-ending cycle of destruction and futility that characterized life in the Decepticon faction. Even if that somebody hadn't been him. Or could ever be.

The Seeker drew a heavy sigh, shifting slightly on his berth. Jazz's defection wasn't only a source of comfort, far from it. Just as importantly, he had just lost his closest comrade, the _only_ close comrade – friend – he had had among his fellow soldiers. What he should fill that vacant spot with, he had no idea. Though not directly on bad terms with any of the Earth-based 'Cons, there were none with whom he had close relationships or could share his private thoughts.

Even if he wasn't the kind of mech who naturally craved a lot of social interaction, he had grown used to Jazz and spending a lot of his free time in the saboteur's presence. It was something he would miss, and dearly so.

He wondered fleetingly if Jazz would find any friends among his new comrades. Even if the former 'Con would be met with suspicion at first, his buoyant personality was bound to win at least some of them over eventually. He hoped the saboteur wouldn't have to struggle too hard, though. A defected Autobot certainly wouldn't be trusted any further than a cassetticon could throw him, but perhaps the Autobots would be more welcoming towards a defector.

Jazz. An Autobot, for all intent and purposes. It was a thought hard to grasp. But when he thought about it, maybe it wasn't such a long shot after all.

His thoughts drifted away to that time back on Cybertron – it felt like an eternity had come and gone since – when he had walked home with Jazz after a long night of drinking. The saboteur had told him the reasons behind his own joining up with the Decepticon faction, which had turned out to have a lot more to do with his lust for adventure than any deep-seated convictions. But what had stuck in Thundercracker's processor had been the relief that somebody else than him had joined for a reason other than simple dedication to the cause. He wasn't the _only_ one.

At the time, his reflections hadn't ventured a lot further than that. But remembering their conversation now – he hadn't thought about it in ages – made things appear in quite a different light. Obviously, Jazz had already had second thoughts back then, regardless of whether he had admitted them to himself or not. Simply slaking his thirst for adventure and action could not have been enough to keep whatever doubts were already present from growing. Certainly Thundercracker had noticed Jazz's less-than-advisable level of dedication more than once, but he had never thought it went _that_ deep. Or that it would have driven the saboteur _that_ far.

But given the things Jazz had said that night, maybe Thundercracker should have expected this outcome. Even if Jazz's thoughts had never, until his capture, ventured as far as to seriously consider the option to defect, with his mindset, the right circumstances might have been enough to serve as the final push.

He was unable to silence the persistent, nagging little voice in his head whispering that perhaps he had been too self-centered, too prone to wallow in his own misery to notice. It was a reluctant admission, since he didn't like to think in that direction. But maybe he had been focusing too much on himself and not enough on others, with his constant feeling sorry for himself.

He halted the trail of thought. He had no desire to follow it any further than that. His seemingly well-justified self-pity had come to be a natural part of him, something that he had built his entire existence and identity on since joining the trine. In a way, it had come to define him, this whole idea that life was unfair to him. And if he didn't have that crutch to hold on to, what else did he have left?

Annoyed, he pushed the thoughts away. Surely life _was_ unfair, forcing these bonds on him, making him their prisoner in more ways than one, turning his life into misery? So maybe he'd been spending a significant chunk of his service in the Decepticon faction moping about his bonds, but surely it was justified seeing as how no good was ever going to come out of them?

The blank wall he was staring hollowly into held no answers for him, but instead silently urged him to find them for himself.

Dissatisfied, Thundercracker eased himself down on the berth, settling for gazing at the ceiling instead. His optics lazily followed the meandering cracks in the structure, tracking a single line until it suddenly diverged into two separate ones. One of them opted to continue on its own beyond Thundercracker's field of vision, while the other chose to join up with another stray crack, the two sharing the path ahead as they continued forwards together.

Tracking the webbed pattern made the Seeker feel slightly dizzy. Today's shocking news, his unpleasant meeting with Megatron, and all the speculation that had followed were taking their rightful toll on him. His processor was already disoriented and chaotic enough; he didn't need any more mental tracks to follow.

Off-lining his optics, the picture of the diverging and converging cracks still burning in his visual circuitry, he hoped for recharge to come and claim his swirling mind.


	19. Chapter 19

_**Author's notes:**__ This is the second to last chapter of this story, so things are about to be wrapped up. Also, those of you who have read "Choices" will no doubt recognize this scene, difference being that this time, it's been written from Thundercracker's perspective. (Should have posted this last Sunday, but ff. net wasn't being cooperative.) _

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Many thanks to hydraling110 for betaing this. _

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

The jet sped through the air with a grace that only long years of practice could have brought by. He was happy to be away from headquarters and the pointed looks of accusation he had been getting lately. He was tired of them, tired of his comrades' mistrust, tired of being watched by Laserbeak.

But now, back in his element, he was free. Laserbeak, though an excellent spy, was a comparatively slow flier and there was no way he was able to keep up with the Seeker when he took to the sky in jet mode. Not that Thundercracker really had anything to hide outside of the thoughts in his processor, but the constant surveillance was getting on his nerves.

He relished in the sight of the trees below him speeding by in a blur, until the terrain started to change into far-stretching fields of grass. Indeed, this was as perfect an area for flying as he could imagine. There were no ground structures that he risked crashing into when trying out one of his more daring moves, and on the flat surface below him he could see his own shadow move in perfect synchronicity with his own frame. Somehow it appealed to his artistic senses, having an imaginary wingmate that followed his own moves flawlessly. And, unlike the open sea, there was no sun glittering on the surface to annoy him.

He increased his speed, preparing for a roll, when suddenly his attention was drawn towards something on the ground below him.

He did a double take. No, it wasn't possible, was it? Surely it couldn't be...

But the black and white form he had spotted was all too familiar to leave any doubt in his mind. It was Jazz. As far-fetched as the conclusion was, he could draw no other.

He circled the mech, suddenly uncertain what he should do. If seen talking to a defector...

But no. There was no one here to spot him, not even Soundwave's ugly bird-bot. Making his decision, he slowly descended to the ground, hoping he wouldn't regret defying all that Decepticon values dictated.

And then, he stood in front of his former comrade, neither of them speaking a word as they took in the presence of the other. It was an awkward moment, to say the least. What did one say to someone who had just defected? Someone who had been a former comrade but had now suddenly transformed into the supposed enemy?

With so much that was unspoken between them, it was strange how he could find no natural starting point, nothing that could serve to initiate a conversation. He had a million questions burning in his processor that each vied for being the first to be voiced, but they all seemed too abrupt, too personal. Clumsy and tactless. After all, he had no idea what ordeals Jazz had gone through during his captivity, and if the horror stories that told in gruesome detail what Autobots did to captured Decepticons were anything to go by – which he doubted – he wasn't sure he wanted to hear any of it.

Still saying nothing, Thundercracker's optics travelled over the other's chassis, looking for signs that Jazz had somehow been changed, that the mech standing in front of him was no longer the comrade he had known. But all they found was the outward proof of his change of factions – the red insignia stamped on his chest.

He wasn't surprised to see it there; he had known to expect it. And yet, seeing it on Jazz's chassis seemed strangely... off. It was as if the sky had suddenly turned green and the grass blue, colliding with his mental image of how the world was supposed to manifest itself.

"So it's true then," he blurted out, the odd discrepancy of the red symbol against the black and white chassis somehow magically loosening his tied tongue. "You really _have_ defected. I wasn't sure whether to believe Megatron or not when he informed us about it, but now I see that he was indeed telling the truth."

He wanted to kick himself. Instead of inquiring about Jazz's well-being or anything like that, his first words had been a daft-sounding, superfluous statement of the obvious.

Jazz didn't seem offended, though, and he slowly nodded as he replied. "Yes, it's true. I'm an Autobot now."

And perhaps hearing it said in Jazz's own words, in his own voice, was what truly drove the point home for Thundercracker. As much as he had feared the opposite, for all he could tell from their short encounter, this _had_ been Jazz's own choice. The Autobots had not processor-washed him into accepting their truths as his own, turning him into a mindless drone in the process. No, as far as he could see, Jazz was still Jazz, as much as he had ever been. Perhaps now even more so.

"Why?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him, as his sense of tact was once again rudely forced into the backseat.

But there was no way he could have stopped himself from posing the personal, poking question. He _had_ to know. And he felt how deep inside of himself, a secret, well-hidden part of him rejoiced at the possibility that someone had made the choice that he couldn't. He wasn't the only one who had harboured treacherous thoughts, not the only one who had doubted the cause he was following. He wasn't _alone_.

He might envy Jazz for his ability to choose freely, but there was still comfort to be had in the fact that somebody had rejected Decepticon values and joined the other side.

And that was why he was taken aback by Jazz's unexpected response.

"Because I've bonded with one of them."

_Bonded?_ The discrepant word stood out to Thundercracker like the Autobot symbol on Jazz's chassis had. It was not a word he had expected to be part of the explanation for his comrade's defection.

He had bonded with an Autobot? Thundercracker's mind reeled. What kind of reason was _that_?

"So it isn't about you choosing the Autobot way over ours, then?" he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer. Somehow Jazz's defection didn't seem as glorious or inspiring as it had mere moments ago; its golden rim having been washed away by the bleak truth behind his decision.

Jazz seemed to weigh his words before he answered, perhaps sensing some of Thundercracker's dissatisfaction.

"Well, that too, I guess. I mean, I _am_ convinced that the Autobot way is preferable to what the Decepticons are struggling to achieve, but what made me do the jump to the other side... well, that was because of my bondmate," he finally said, optics locked at something in the distance, as if he was reminiscing about better times long gone and now almost forgotten.

Well, Thundercracker supposed that was as good an answer as he was going to get. And while Jazz's having come around to see the shortcomings of the Decepticon way was not the main reason for his defection, he had at least come around to see it. That was the important part.

Still, it was inconceivable to the Seeker how Jazz could have been swayed by a mere desire to bond with another mech. In his own experience, bonds were nothing but a hassle, an inconvenience at best, and an unwanted, intruding parasite at their worst. He would have been more than happy to rid himself of his own, and yet, Jazz had freely chosen to enter into one.

But then again... he had been given a choice of _who_ to bond with. And choices like that didn't exist within the Decepticon army where all bondings were decided upon by others. But surely it had to be different when entered into with a mech that one actually... cared about, right? It was strange how he had never really thought along those lines before. But it did make an odd sort of sense now.

And in the end, what mattered was that Jazz had been given his own choice in this. He could never have done so in the Decepticon army, but as an Autobot, he could. That was a freedom Thundercracker would never have.

"I see," he said, for Jazz's sake hoping that the answer to his next question would be a 'yes'. It would be senseless otherwise. "Well then, tell me one thing, Jazz. Are you happy with the choice you've made?"

There was clear hesitation in Jazz's voice as he struggled to formulate a response. "I..." was all he managed before he fell silent again, not meeting with Thundercracker's optics.

"Well," he finally continued, "I do believe that it was the right choice to leave the Decepticon faction and side with the Autobots; that much I don't regret. As far as my choice of bondmate goes..."

Another pause, some more apparent searching for elusive words.

"To be honest, things haven't worked out between us, even if I had truly hoped they would. Perhaps it's too late to do anything about it now. Somehow, we've drifted so far apart from each other that I'm not sure that the chasm between us can be closed again."

No, those weren't the words that Thundercracker had wanted to hear. Even if the primary reason for his defecting hadn't been his convictions, he had still made a choice. And again, it was the kind of choice that Thundercracker had never been allowed to make, never been asked about – the choice of whom to bond with.

A faint annoyance stirred in his processor as he heard the note of hopelessness and apathy in his former comrade's voice. It wasn't like the saboteur. The Jazz he had known had been happy and easy-going, not subdued like this, like life itself had been drained out of him.

He should stick up for himself and fight for what he had voluntarily chosen. That kind of choice was an unheard of luxury in the Decepticon faction, and seeing Jazz not picking up on it was aggravating, almost painful for Thundercracker. He would have done anything to have been given the same opportunity to choose. Granted, he'd never really talked much about his experiences of being bonded, but he thought the saboteur should have been smart enough to extrapolate the truth from his demeanor and the little tidbits he had let slip during all their years together. If Jazz had any idea of what Thundercracker had had to go through, he probably would have seen his own situation in quite a different light.

"And you're not gonna try to do anything to prevent the thing you fear from actually happening?" he said pointedly, hoping he wouldn't have to spell everything out to the other mech.

Jazz looked up, but his answer was still as dejected as the look on his face. "Believe me, I have tried, but whatever I do, it doesn't help."

It was obvious that his friend needed a little reminder. But before Thundercracker had the chance to say anything, though, the black and white mech changed subjects, quick as lightning, as if he wanted nothing more than to leave the whole issue behind him.

"So haven't _you_ ever thought about it? Defecting, I mean? We've been comrades for so long, Thundercracker; I've long ago gathered that you're not fully convinced about the cause you're supporting, whether you want to admit it or not," he blurted out.

_Well, what do you know_.

So Jazz _had_ noticed, after all. The Seeker felt a sudden urge to laugh about the irony of it all, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. So here the two of them had been harbouring treacherous doubts in secrecy for Primus knew how long, and yet they had both tried to hide them out of fear of possible repercussions, neither daring to give voice to them.

Such a waste.

But he couldn't linger on that anymore. What was gone was gone, and what mattered now was the future and what Jazz was on the verge of throwing away out of his hands.

"Believe me, I _have_ thought about it. Many times. But in the end, I can't."

He was surprised at how much of a relief it was to finally get to say those words, like a constricting chain encircling his frame had been removed, without him having really realized it had even been there.

The look on Jazz's face was one of confusion and inability to understand as he eyed the Seeker questioningly. "What do you mean you can't? It's easy enough, if you make up your mind to. You can just fly yourself over to the Ark, and none of the 'Cons would know a thing before it's too late. The Autobots would welcome you – well, most of them, anyway. And you don't have to worry about getting shot down by accident, I can warn the others so they know they shouldn't fire, and then..."

_Jazz, Jazz._ So he still didn't get it. Well, it was obvious that he had no choice but to spell things out for his clueless friend.

"That's not what I meant. I can't defect because I'm a _Seeker_," he interrupted the other, feeling an unbidden wave of moroseness come over him as the sad state that was his life was clothed in words.

Well, no time for sentimentality. He'd make Jazz see reason, if that was the last thing he did. He met with the other's optics, not speaking again until he was sure he had the saboteur's full attention.

"And as I'm sure you're well aware, that means I have two bondmates I would be leaving behind if I were to defect." He kept his optics locked on Jazz as he spoke, searching for any sign that his words would be having their intended effect.

Jazz's face was still blank and expressionless as the Seeker stopped speaking, but Thundercracker waited patiently. He had time.

And then, there was a slight shift in the gray faceplates before him. It was almost imperceptible at first, but it spread like a ripple over the solemn mech, until it seemed to light up his entire visage. Jazz's lips parted somewhat, whether it was out of shock or something else. It didn't matter; realization was no doubt starting to sink into the saboteur as he stared at the Seeker, body frozen as his mind worked frantically.

Then there was another shift, much more noticeable this time, like there was suddenly a different mech altogether standing in front of the Seeker, determinedly meeting his gaze.

"I do understand now why you've never defected, Thundercracker. I never did before I got a bondmate of my own, but now I know what a bond means, and so I can see why you wouldn't wish to leave your own bondmates behind. I'm just... sorry... that you never got to make your own choice about it like I did," Jazz said, sounding more resolute and determined for every word that was leaving his vocalizer. "And so, I'm not gonna give up on things, I can assure you."

So, he had managed to make his friend see reason after all. Thundercracker couldn't stop a smile from forming on his lips at the radical change in the saboteur, a change brought by realizing what precious thing he did have and had been on the verge of letting go of. The Seeker was glad that he had been the cause of it; it meant that at least _something_ good had finally come out of all the torment he had suffered from his own unwanted bonds.

"Well, I'll be slagged; maybe you're not as slow-witted as I might have suspected at times," Thundercracker said, letting a teasing note creep into his voice, before reverting to his usual, serious self.

As un-Decepticon-ish as it was, he wanted to ask Jazz what it was like being bonded to someone whom you had... feelings for, someone you actually cared about. Could it truly be such a wonderful thing? Good enough to abandon the convictions and foundations you had built your life on? However, he was interrupted by a crackle from his transmitter, and Megatron's raspy voice came on-line, cutting through the intimate scene like a razor.

"Decepticons! Report back to base immediately! We have found an exploitable human energy source, which we will start to gather as soon as possible," came the order, demanding and expecting immediate obedience.

Well, the moment was ruined. Megatron's words had brought Thundercracker back to reality again, reminding him of the circumstances he was trapped in. He sighed.

"Well, I need to get back. Good luck, Jazz. I suppose I'll see you around sometime."

With those words, he transformed and took off. He knew that it was abrupt, but if Megatron was calling his subordinates back to base, it was unwise to dawdle. Sure he could have stayed a couple of minutes longer without any repercussions, but that amount of time would have been far too short to deal with such a delicate, emotion-laden subject as bonding. And he doubted he would have been able speak freely about such a thing anyway with Megatron's recent order hanging over his head, as an unwelcome reminder of what and where he was – a Seeker in the Decepticon army – automatically making him revert into his normal secluded self.

Well, perhaps he would one day get an answer to what sharing a bond with a cherished partner was like. After all, it wasn't impossible that he'd run into an alone Jazz again, one day or the other. And if he did, he'd ask the saboteur to explain it.

The idea that there were mechs out there who would willingly choose to enter into a bond was a novel concept indeed. But, he realized, if one cared about the mech one was bonded with, it had to be a wholly different experience. Not anything like those abominations that tied him to his wingmates.

_No, surely they had to be different things altogether, right?  
_


	20. Chapter 20

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Many thanks to hydraling110 for betaing this. _

_**Warnings:**__ Story contains slash._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

As always, life continued. Regardless of circumstances and surroundings, it plodded on as if nothing had changed, refusing to be slowed down or stopped. An independent force of its own, it plowed forward, as stubbornly as always.

Just like the war.

Thundercracker dove into a spin, narrowly avoiding the laser shot that had his name written on it. On the ground below, two of his comrades were scurrying for cover behind a pile of rusty old barrels, as they were bombarded by a storm of rifle fire, courtesy of the red and yellow twin nuisances.

Attacking the refinery had been a bad idea. The Autobots had arrived quickly at the scene, probably after having been tipped off about the Decepticons' plans one way or the other. Megatron had replied to Prime's order to stand down with a predictable burst from his fusion cannon, and the fight was on.

Sometimes, nothing changed. They might as well have been actors in a human movie stuck on repeat, each scene replaying itself over and over again, any struggle to get out of the never-ending loop ultimately futile.

This time, it didn't take long until the order came.

"_Retreat!"_

It was bellowed out by their glorious leader, his voice easily carrying over the clangs and booms of the battle. And, as usual, a smug comment from Starscream immediately followed. It wasn't _too_ smug, but carried the exact right amount of barb to cast gray shadows of doubt on Megatron's bravery and leadership capabilities without being overly blatant about it.

"Silence, Starscream!"

The red and white Seeker obeyed and took off, thrusters flaring behind him and a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face. Thundercracker watched him in silence; if there was ever any change in the normal tranquility at all, it was how that mech's impudence seemed to be growing by the year.

Starscream's scathing comment had made a lot of sense though; this hadn't been a successful operation by any definition of the word. Soundwave had only managed to fill up a pitiful amount of energon cubes before being driven off by the Autobots, probably not enough to even compensate for the energy that had been wasted in the whole endeavor.

Well then. Thundercracker performed a quick scan of the quickly receding battle below, and made to follow the majority of his comrades who had already set off for their base.

Then, something caught his optics. A bit away, confident in their victory, stood a small group of Autobots, one of them waving his rifle triumphantly in the air. But that wasn't the mech that had drawn Thundercracker's attention, no. Instead, it was that behorned black and white figure that was standing next to the gloating 'Bot.

It was a strange realization. Even if he knew that Jazz had defected and had even met him since, seeing him on the opposing side on the battlefield was eerie, almost like encountering a ghost or spirit that everyone knew should no longer be among the living. Of course, meeting him like this was to be expected, and yet it did not feel that way.

He couldn't greet or acknowledge his old comrade, though, not by any means other than his laser cannons. For all intents and purposes, they were now enemies, belonging to opposite forces, any friendly interaction between them strongly prohibited.

It was a shame. Not least because of the question that was burning within him, prodding him for the answer that he was unable to find.

_So Jazz, did you manage to make peace with your estranged bondmate, or was there nothing left for you to salvage? _

He might never find out. But he hoped that the first part of that sentiment was true, if only because that was what had pushed Jazz into defecting in the first place. For having had the bearings to make such a momentous decision – one that Thundercracker himself could never make – it wouldn't be fair if the reason for it had turned out to be nothing more than a taunting chimera.

He looked back at the little gathering. Five Autobots in total. Or four Autobots and a traitor, seen from Decepticon perspective. He suddenly noticed that there was another black and white figure among the group, his posture stiff and rigid.

Prowl. Jazz's bondmate. He realized that he had never asked Jazz about which Autobot he had bonded with – somehow, it hadn't seemed important at the time – but word had eventually gotten around to the Nemesis that the Autobot Second in Command was now Jazz's bondmate.

Or perhaps former bondmate, whatever the case might be.

From up here, Thundercracker could see no clue as to which was the right assertion, no exchange of bitter glares or adoring glances that would tell of the two mechs' current relation. But the Autobot tactician did have a reputation of being unusually cold and stoic for an Autobot, so it was unlikely that he would be showing any of it regardless.

Oh well. When it all came down to it, Thundercracker could do no more than guess, at best. As he prepared to leave, he took note of a small detail that would have been insignificant under any other circumstances, but now grabbed his attention – Jazz's back was turned towards him. Prowl's was not.

_Yes. He could use that. _

Firing up his thrusters to maximum power, he raced towards the five Autobots, suddenly coming at them at full speed, altitude so low that his underside was almost scraping against the ground, as if he were about to ram into them. It was a dangerous move, but the relaxed postures of his adversaries told him that they were already certain of their victory. With Megatron having called a retreat and his subordinates already following on his heels, it was unlikely that these Autobots were prepared to get their weapons up and ready to fire at him as he executed his little mock attack.

As Thundercracker had expected, the tactician was the first to spot the jet that was coming straight towards them at an alarming speed.

"Jazz, watch out!" Not waiting for the other to heed his warning, Prowl jumped and grabbed the other mech, pushing him onto the ground and out of harm's way, as Autobots were throwing themselves down all around them. The jet's nosecone turned upwards again, and as quickly as he had come, the Seeker sped off into the sky before any of the mechs could collect their bearings and start firing at him.

_Well, indeed_, Thundercracker thought as the refinery was turning into a tiny gray and brown dot below him. Out of all the four mechs that had been standing around the tactician, Prowl had chosen to protect Jazz. Not one of the others, all of which he had been comrades with for much longer.

_Seems like you did manage to get things back on track after all, didn't you, Jazz? _

The Seeker reveled in the warm rays of the sun that were beaming down on his wings, while cool, soothing currents of air caressed their sensitive plating. So between him and Jazz, the two disloyal renegades, at least one of them had been allowed to find happiness.

* * *

As much as Thundercracker loved to fly, sometimes he just preferred to sit on a slab of rock and stare up into the sky and marvel at the vast, endless expanse of nothingness that stretched out above him. It was a comforting idea – that no matter how small and insignificant he might be in the light of everything, this vastness was his to control and master. It was his element. It belonged to him.

And he had to admit; the sunsets of this planet were truly a sight to behold. Cybertron didn't have anything like it. It was amazing how a small strip just above the horizon slowly changed from bluish gray into a faint pink, almost reminiscent of energon. The pink then spread further upwards, painting the whole sky with its lustrous shade. As the sun set deeper, it grew into a glowing orb of fire waiting to be engulfed by the sea below, while the heavens turned into a full-out explosion of vibrant, golden red.

It was fascinating and soothing at the same time. Especially in the days that had followed Jazz's defection.

Word had quickly gotten around that Megatron harboured serious suspicions regarding Thundercracker's loyalties, and that Laserbeak had been ordered to run surveillance on the Seeker. As expected, the usual Decepticon selfishness had manifested itself in all his comrades. Mechs were afraid to be seen speaking with him, sitting next to him in the mess hall, and even being anywhere near him.

It was like a bizarre game – 'avoid the Seeker' – that everyone back at base played, each contestant participating with as much vigor as he could possibly muster.

But he could understand them. If Megatron eventually arrived at the conclusion that Thundercracker was indeed an unreliable Autobot sympathizer, nobody would want to be remembered as the mech that had last been seen socializing with him. It didn't matter if any of the 'Cons were themselves convinced of his innocence, it only mattered that the suspicions were there, and that they risked going down with Thundercracker should Megatron find too much of a connection between them.

He supposed he would get used to it sooner or later, although it was an uncomfortable experience, being ignored and avoided by everyone. Perhaps that was what being a ghost was like. If the others' optics didn't automatically turn to another direction whenever he showed up, they looked right through his chassis like he had been nothing more than a wisp of thin smoke. Wherever he was, he seemed to be contained in a bubble that no one dared to step inside of, as if doing so would obliterate them as well, turning them into unseen and unmentionable pariahs.

A tired sigh escaped him. Hopefully, Megatron would eventually grow tired of Laserbeak's empty reports and put the surveillance order to rest. Guilty as he might be of the charge of lackluster dedication and treacherous leanings, it was still all confined to his processor, and not even Laserbeak would be able to see inside of it, sneaky as the bird-bot was. He could put up a show loyal enough to convince his leader that the suspicions were a mistake.

It would still take a while, though. And until then, he would have no choice but to endure the dreary social quarantine he was currently in. But it was difficult. With Jazz gone and all his comrades avoiding him like cosmic rust, he had never before felt so pitifully... _alone_.

"Mind if I sit down?"

The question startled Thundercracker out of his self-pitying reverie. He had been too deep into his own thoughts to notice anyone approaching, and he silently scolded himself for being so inattentive of his own surroundings. But as usual, there was no need for him to look up to know who that voice belonged to.

Skywarp.

Thundercracker's first instinct was to dismiss the other, as he would usually do, but in light of his recent experience of being actively avoided by everyone, he thought better of it. Under the current conditions, even Skywarp would almost be welcome company. _Almost_.

"Help yourself," he said with a noncommittal shrug, not taking his optics off the reddening sky before him, effectively ignoring the other mech.

As the other Seeker gingerly sat down next to him, Thundercracker steeled himself for the usual barrage of pointless blabbering that was Skywarp's trademark. But this time, it didn't come; instead the black and purple mech just sat there, looking up at the blazing sky together with his wingmate.

"Beautiful, huh?" Skywarp finally broke the long silence.

Thundercracker peered sideways at his companion, an optic ridge raised in faint surprise. It wasn't a comment he would ever have expected to hear from Skywarp.

His wingmate was right, though.

"Yes, it is beautiful," the blue and white Seeker agreed, averting his gaze back to the amazing palette of red and orange and pink spread out before him.

And as he watched the marvellous sunset, he had to admit that his wingmate voluntarily seeking him out and sitting down beside him had surprised him. Though Skywarp's processor usually prodded on at a rather leisurely speed, even he had to realize that fraternizing with a possible apostate could very well come back to bite him in the aft.

And yet, it seemed as if the Seeker didn't care. Out of all the Decepticons in the Nemesis, Skywarp had turned out to be the one exception. The only one who dared – or _cared_ – to break the bleak isolation Thundercracker had been put into.

As they sat there sharing the silence and tranquility between them, an odd, weird thought started to take shape in Thundercracker's mind.

Perhaps he had never really _seen_ Skywarp. The loathed, unwanted bond between them had always gotten in the way, obscuring the other from view. And maybe his resentment towards what had been forced upon him had automatically been projected onto his wingmate, regardless of whether he had deserved it or not.

The sharply clear, yet somehow vertigo-inducing thought seemed to have suddenly turned his whole world upside down. Skywarp had always been an annoyance, a nuisance that only served to remind him of the bond he had never wanted but whose effects he was forced to live with. After all the long years of preconceived notions, it was odd to ponder that perhaps there might be more to him than that.

The concept was novel, even revolutionary, to a mind that had been made up so long ago, resolutely having closed itself to anything that might challenge its self-crafted worldview. But, he realized, astonished by his own conclusions, perhaps Jazz wasn't the only one able to reevaluate his position and start all over again. And perhaps his friend was right – maybe a bond didn't necessarily have to be the horrible thing he had always thought?

The two remained sitting on the rugged gray surface of the rock, the tips of their wings touching slightly. It was strange how, for all the countless times he and Skywarp had bonded and interfaced with each other, this somehow seemed like a much more intimate moment.

_So maybe Jazz was gone, but at least he still had Skywarp. _

Normally, the thought would have made him groan in distress, but this time it made him experience a sobering, comforting feeling of relief. At least he wasn't alone. When it all came down to it, he still had his wingmate and trinemate. His bondmate.

The last rays of the dying, drowning sun had painted the magnificent canvas above in all possible shades of red and crimson, each colourful stripe seamlessly merging into its slightly differently shaded neighbour. He enjoyed the display; it was as if it had been made for his optics only, this slow but dramatic change of a Seeker's true element. Of his domain.

Well, his and Skywarp's domain, he supposed. He dared a glance towards his fellow Seeker, who was still staring at the breathtaking horizon in fascination.

"So, Skywarp," he said, a bit hesitant at first. Breaking the silence seemed slightly inappropriate, even indecent, but he thought better of it. "What do you say to a bit of late-night flying?" He indicated the glowing sky above him with an upward nod of his head and a slight raise of his optics ridges.

Skywarp grinned at him. "Wouldn't say no to that!"

Thundercracker stood up, his limbs feeling lighter than they had in a long time. Firing up his thrusters, he took off and transformed effortlessly, Skywarp at his side.

Together, they raced towards the flaming sky, claiming its wide expanse as theirs. The last rays of the setting sun reflected off their armour, and to someone watching from below they would only have appeared as two glowing dots, moving closely together in perfect synchronicity against the red canvas above.

* * *

_**End note:**__ Well, that was the last chapter and the end to this story. And as the title implies, this final scene was what the whole story was meant to lead up to. It just took twenty chapters to get there. :) What prompted me to write this was that I couldn't help but feel sorry for poor Thundercracker in the prequel "Choices", being stuck in such a miserable situation, unwanted bonds and all. While it was the wake-up call that served to make Jazz decide to fight to get his relationship back on track with Prowl, I thought that Thundercracker also deserved to take something positive with him from that post-defection conversation of theirs, something that would help him change his outlook on things enough to turn his situation around for the better as well. So this fic was the result. _

_Anyway, thanks for your comments and feedback, everyone! I hope you have enjoyed reading this story!  
_


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